Diamonds
by DemiHuman123
Summary: The world was no longer what he formally knew. Everything had changed so gradually that he didn't realize the difference until it was too late. Now he wished he could go back to the rut he had learned to hate. Benson/Misc. Benson/Skips.
1. Mr Blue Sky

_I don't own the TV show, Regular Show. I don't own Mordecai, Rigby, Benson, Pops, or the finally developing character after two seasons Margaret. Cartoon Network owns them, so nobody better come and sue me because I got a copyright up so I'm fine. I think. Though somehow I have a feeling that J.G. Quintel secretly reads his fans fanfiction._

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><p><strong>DemiHuman123 presents…<strong>

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><p>The rays of sunlight shined down over his face, stirring his slumber and bringing him back into reality from a dreamless sleep. His senses and consciousness came into focus once more and he opened his eyes and remembered where he was. It was one of the few times he had actually woken up without his alarm clock going off first. He lay in bed looking up at the ceiling, before turning to his side and getting a glimpse at the wall his bed had been pushed up against.<p>

Today was another day, he thought to himself. Today was going to be like every other day. Nothing was going to change. He was going to get up, take a shower, eat a quick and certainly unhealthy breakfast (due to a lack of proper funding), and then leave his quiet and empty little apartment behind to go to work. It was going to be the same thing as it was everyday. He'd get there, and his levels of stress would rise to a point where it affected his judgment and made his day worse off than he originally thought it was going to be.

He sighed and accepted his rut, getting up from bed and approaching the bathroom just outside his bedroom in the hallway. The gears inside him were jittery and itchy; too much soup from the night before. It had worked its way through his system and needed a quick source of evacuation. After using the facilities, he flushed the commode and turned on the shower. The morning rituals were running like clockwork as always.

He leaned against the wall, taking in the cool untouched feeling of the depressingly grey tiles lined all over as he waited for the water to heat. He let out a groggy yawn and stretched out a bit. Testing the water, he still found it a bit too cold for his tastes and adjusted the warmth. He waited as the water slowly began to heat up to something more manageable: too hot or too cold would be the death of him, considering his body type.

Waiting impatiently, we walked over to the bathroom mirror and glared at the person across from him: Red painted body, long and lanky arms and legs, a slightly bulbous see-through head complete with pinkish gumballs inside. This was him. This was the sad little person he had to live with every day of his miserably agonizingly long life. He wondered for a split second as to why he was born such a creature – a gumball machine – and wondered as to whether or not there was any significance to it. Fate apparently had a sense of humor, as evidenced by the platypus, skunk, and daytime television soap operas.

Strange that he was feeling like that, that morning. He never really thought about philosophy or circumstances or anything like that. Who knows? Perhaps that morning was just one of those beginnings that got him up and thinking about where he was going in life. It didn't stop him from dreading the incoming day's work load though.

The water was still cold. He had to wait longer. He took another long look in the mirror and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift away to the sound of running water.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The florescent lights above the man's head fizzled and hissed violently as he washed his hands with warm soapy water. He stared up at the brightness of the bulbs, flickering and fading. One of them burst, causing him to jump slightly and get water all over his bright red chassis. He sighed unhappily, grabbing for paper towels next to the faucet. The man quickly wiped down his body. Finding the water on his hands dried as well for having touched the towel, he threw it into the trash, collected a folder he had set on the counter and walked out of the restroom. As if sensing its guest leaving, the bulbs stopped flickering.

This place was like a labyrinth, the man thought to himself, scratching at his glassy dome. Where was this person's office again? The man he was supposed to see? And what was his name again? Mallerd? Mellerd? Maellard? That was it! Mr. Maellard. He had heard that name several times before, but then again, who hadn't? The billionaire owned more than 80% of the city, plus several conglomerates outside of the city, state, and country. It was almost off putting to be called into an interview with a man so rich and powerful. And all over a job interview to work at a park?

It made the man nervous. But worry wasn't going to stop him today. He needed this job, even if everything about it seemed so adverse. By the sounds of it, it didn't pay that much, and the hours were going to be quite unbearable, but at this point, a job was a job, evening at minimum wage. At least he was going to be getting some benefits. When was the last time he was able to go to the doctor without having to spend an arm and a leg?

"Hold that elevator!" he screamed, rushing towards the slowly closing door. He was sure he was going to miss it, until a kindly old man inside put his arm out and stopped the door. It slid back open, giving the running man a chance to jump inside. He pressed the button for the floor he was wanting and leaned back against the back wall of the enclosed room, taking a sigh of relief in the process. Who knew how long he would have to have waited for another elevator if this kind gentleman next to him hadn't helped.

"Thanks," the sighing man said to the gentleman. It was only just then that he got a good look at this person.

He was skinny and tall, very tall in fact. So tall that the top hat he was wearing touched the ceiling, making it slightly out of balance, tilting to one side. But the height was only one of the things the man noticed about him. He wondered how a body that looked so frail and bony could support such a swollen head. It was huge! Probably the biggest he had ever seen in his life. The smaller male's expressions suggested awe and shock at the taller man. The gentleman looming above him noticed the change in facial tone and smiled down at him.

"You're very welcome, my good sir," he said with compassion. His nose twitched slightly, shining attention on the silver peach fuzz growing out over his upper lip. "My name is Pops," he continued with sheer excitement growing in his voice. "And you are?"

The smaller man suddenly shook himself back and attempted to regain his composure. "Uh," he started, trying to recollect himself and be on his best behavior. "It's Benson."

Pops smile widened as he look down at the man, fondly observing him. This was a sight to behold, thought Pops: A living, breathing sentient gumball machine. He had only heard about them in the stories his father told him when he came back from business trips. The old man remembered his father telling him that they only made about 4% of the world's population, somewhere in the line of 16,000,000 of them, if he was correct. Pops couldn't tear his eyes away from that beautiful bright red armor and all the colorful gumballs scattered around in Benson's head. He thought he would like to try one. What a marvelous idea, he thought as he bit down on his lower lip!

Benson wasn't sure what to think of this man. Surely he was either very excitable, or not mentally well. He was hoping that it was only the first one. Last thing he wanted was to get to his interview only to be brutally torn limb from limb by an enthusiastic psychopath. And why was he staring at his groin? The old man wasn't going to get much out of it, that much Benson could assure him. Or maybe it was something else.

"Ummmm," Benson continued as he looked at the man strangely, "would you… like a gumball?"

The codger nodded as a look of child like innocence and excitement spread all over his face in anticipation. Benson could sense no malice or anything of a threatening nature coming from him, so perhaps it was alright just this once. He brought his hand up to the crank above his groin area, and turned it quickly. His insides spun, and clanked, causing an opening somewhere to pop and allow a single gumball to fall onto his metal tracking, and roll toward the door located, unfortunately, where someone's privates would be.

Benson gasped as his gears turned in a way that sent a pleasing shiver through his body. He hated doing that kind of thing outside of his home, but he also understood that people don't know what that crank does to him. When he felt the gumball knock against the inside of his metal flap, he opened it and let the gumball fall into his hands, offering it up to Pops a second later. The gentleman jumped up and down in a giddy way, before snatching it and shoving the thing into his mouth. He chewed on it greedily, but happily, enjoying the lovely sweet flavor of it.

The gumball machine watched on as the man happily rejoiced at the taste, dancing around in circles and feeling truly happy and accomplished. He was just happy he gave Pops one of his normal gumballs. And then he suddenly found himself in a tight hug as Pops took him into his arms, squeezing as tight as he could. The shorter man wasn't used to this type of thing, especially coming from a stranger. There were really only a few people he knew that he would let them hug him, and they were either dead or not on speaking terms. He couldn't begin to describe how truly uncomfortable he felt.

The elevator dinged, and the door slid open onto a floor that wasn't the one Benson was waiting for. As the door opened, the view of the outside world seemed cut off. In front of the two men was a large bulking figure, eyeing the two with a dead emotionless glare. Both Benson and Pops look at him with a sort of fear growing in their bellies. The hulking beast skipped, not walked, into the elevator and turned to look at the button panel. He extended his finger out to one of the buttons, but stopped short when he realized the floor he was going to had already been pressed. So he straightened himself up and stared quietly at the closing metal door in front of him.

Benson took in the full sight of this gigantic man. He may not have been as tall as Pops, but the width of his body… he was built like a tank! He was covered from head to toe with a bright white fur, save for his face and Adonis like chest and abs. A strange compelling feeling to touch and feel at them seemed to sweep over Benson for a few seconds. Not because of lust, or admiration of any sort, but simply to touch them. Like a woman, he just wanted to see if they were "real". His eyes floated down to his pants. Pants? Blue jeans at that. Benson cocked an eyebrow at the strange fashion sense this thing had.

A moment later, Benson remembered he was still being held in place by a hug. Apparently, Pops had forgotten too and was too busy staring at the large creature in front of them as well. The gumball machine freed himself of his grasp and stood straight up, returning to wait for the room to reach his destination.

Pops turned his head and stared at the two of them, his vision darting back and forth, trying to size them both up. The old man nudged over to the giant hulking beast and smiled at it. The creature looked at him in return and nodded, before resuming his stance of door watching.

"I'm Pops," the gentleman introduced himself. He looked over to Benson and brought up a weak finger, pointing at him. "And that's Benson!"

The gumball's lip twitched for a second. He wasn't sure what to feel at this moment. He had only just recently met Pops, and already the giant headed man was treating him like his best friend. It was weird.

The creature turned his head slightly to get a good look at Benson in the corner of his eye. What he could see from the walking automaton, there was nothing really impressive about him. He could see a deep spark of anger festering behind the curiosity in his eyes, and a fire in his belly, but nothing too out of the unusual. He hadn't met a lot of "inanimate life forms" as the technical term was, so his knowledge of them was minimal at best. He understood their rarity all too well. He took a glimpse at Pops next, taking in all the splendid child like wonder that the old man was producing. If the large man had seen this for the first time, he might have found it heartwarming and produced a smile. But he had seen displays of this time and time again, so it was nothing unusual to a man of his age.

"Skips," he muttered in a monotone voice. "My name is Skips." There was a small silence as he stared at the excited man. "I'm a yeti."

"Oh," Pops exclaimed happily, "how splendid! And what brings you here?"

The yeti shrugged, and muttered, "job interview."

Benson's interest piqued. This yeti was here for a job interview as well. And judging by the fact that only one button on the panel had been highlighted, it seemed to be a safe bet that Skips was heading upstairs as well for the same job. Still, Benson knew he couldn't jump to conclusions like that. Doing that would lead him to grow more nervous as the interview came closer, and he didn't want to sit down with a rich and powerful tycoon while in a state of anxiety.

"What kind of job?" he asked curiously. He just wanted to make sure.

Skips shrugged again, and answered without looking at either one of them. "Park groundskeeper."

Benson's eyes shot wide. That was the same job he was after. "The one with Mr. Maellard?"

Suddenly, Skips full attention focused on what the gumball machine had asked. Was this lanky little gumball machine his competition? He might have to work extra hard to get this job; shouldn't be too difficult, he thought. Who was Maellard going to choose – the skinny weak looking gumball machine, or the well built muscular yeti?

Pops suddenly began to hop up and down, in the most excited of manners Benson had ever seen of him do yet. "So you both are here about the advertisement Papa put out in the daily broadsheet?"

"Papa!"

The elevator dinged again as the door opened up to the floor everyone was waiting for. It led into a small enclosed room, with a few chairs and tables strewn about for guests and two large doors across from the elevator, obviously leading into Maellard's office. As it turned out, Mr. Maellard himself was poking his head out of the door that instant, speaking to his secretary. When he saw his son come prancing out of the elevator, he gave a fatherly grin and stepped out of his office to embrace the man.

Benson had only seen pictures of Maellard before, so it kind of shocked him to see that he looked much older in person. He was also so much shorter than his son, it wasn't even funny. He had the same round, lollipop shaped head as Pops, but his seemed to be more crusty, broken, and dried out. Benson wondered if Pops might end up looking like that one day.

"Good to see you, my boy," he said with a proud expression on his face. "Are you ready to help me with the interviews?"

"No need Papa," Pops said with a joyous smile. "I already found the two men who I want helping me around the park!"

Maellard's expression switched to that of confusion and curiosity. Pops pointed back toward the elevator at the two men that had stepped out. Maellard let go of his son, as he began to slowly step toward the machine and the beast, trying to understand them simply by their physical traits alone. If he had to choose right then, he would have gone with the large white thing, but Pops seemed to take a shine to both of them, so he might as well humor his son and go along with it.

"And you are?" Maellard started as he glared at Benson.

The gumball machine had to shake himself out of his trance to answer. His mind was still caught up in this strange turn of events.

"Benson," he finally coughed out. "My name is Benson."

There was an awkward silence among the room. The only thing heard between all of them was the light muffled sounds of a DJ coming from the radio on the secretary's desk.

"_Good Morning! Today's forecast calls for blue skies!"_

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><p><strong>Diamonds<strong>

By _DemiHuman123_

**Chapter One**

**Mr. Blue Sky**

He forgot the time! He had spent so long in the shower and in his own thoughts that Benson had forgotten to get out the door on time. It wouldn't matter since Pops would probably excuse him either way. That man was too trusting of everything. It worked for and against everyone's favor.

Benson jump dashed out of his apartment, grabbing a sack lunch he had prepared the night before, and locked his home up tight. He never understood his apartment complex. Why did it have windows that stared out into the apartment building hallways? The only actual windows that lead outside were in his bedroom and bathroom and he rarely got any use out of them. For the price of rent though, he wasn't going to do any complaining today. So he ran out of the building and towards his place of employment.

_Sun is shining in the sky!_

_There ain't a cloud in sight!_

_It's stopped raining_

_Everybody's in a play_

_And don't you know?_

_It's a beautiful new day!_

No matter how many times he grimaced at it, no matter how many times he cursed it out, and no matter how many times he wished it would burn to the ground, Benson always found there to be some sort of quaint charm to the park he had been working at all these years. Maybe it was just the warm breeze pushing through his body that day, or maybe it was the quiet sounds of children playing in the distance, or maybe it was the fact that everything seemed more peaceful than usual today, he didn't know. All that mattered was that he was in a good (though slightly panicked) mood, and nothing could change that… he hoped.

_Running down the avenue…_

_See how the sun shines brightly?_

_In the city, on the streets_

_Where once was pity_

_Mr. Blue Sky is living here today!_

In the distance was the park recreational house where the team ended up meeting and divvying up chores for the day. It was also the home to Pops, the park owner, and Mordecai and Rigby, two ground keepers. Benson moaned in anticipated annoyance, knowing full well that the duo was going to do something to make his day a living hell. It was just another part of his day that was predictable thanks in due part to babysitting those two. He could handle Pops just fine, but them? Sometimes he wished he could drink on the clock.

_Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why_

_You had to hide away for so long (so long)_

_Where did we go wrong?_

_Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why_

_You had to hide away for so long (so long)_

_Where did we go wrong?_

He didn't like having to get to work on foot, but it did have its benefits. The three mile walk gave him some early morning exercise, and it gave him a chance to observe the park and see what needed working on. He didn't want to be in work mode before he got to the house, but after working there for so many years, it had become second nature to notice the littlest things at the park. Even worse, he was noticing these things from far away off in the distance, from his apartment even. It was his job, and it had slowly become his life.

_Hey you with the pretty face,_

_Welcome to the human race!_

_A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky's up there waiting_

_And today is the day we've waited for!_

Benson was always surprised to find the house looking so good on the outside. The two story behemoth looked prim and proper, and certainly could have fooled anyone. Inside however, depending on the day, the place could be seen as clean and organize, or a rotting piece of hell. Today seemed to be the latter. Pizza boxes and soda cans laid strewn all over the floor and coffee table of the living room, while a static fuzzed TV remained on. The gumball machine looked over to the couch and found it empty. He had expected to find the slackers sleeping there as they usually did: Mordecai with his blue jay feathers and legs stretched all across the thing, while the little raccoon, Rigby, clung to some part of him in an effort to unknowingly enjoy his friend's warmth. Sadly, neither of them were there, which meant they went to bed leaving this place a pigsty.

_Hey there Mr. Blue Sky_

_We're so pleased to be with you!_

_Look around see what you do,_

_Everybody smiles at you!_

Benson looked into the kitchen and saw just as equally a grotesque site. A used blender was on the kitchen table, still filled with some sort of disgusting concoction. The tired man quickly dumped it into the sink and turned on the garbage disposal having realized just how chunky the substance was. He washed out the glass mixer and put in away before getting to work on the rest of the kitchen. He didn't want to leave this to Pops. The old man would take hours doing it, and Benson already had a chore in mind for him that day. And he knew he couldn't trust the idiots to clean up their own mess. No, no. He could deal with this himself. Five minutes a piece per room, and the lower floor of the house was looking mighty spiffy again.

_Mr. Blue Sky_

_Mr. Blue Sky_

_Mr. Blue Sky_

The front door opened right as Benson had finished cleaning up the living room. In walked a stout little green man with brown locks formed into a mullet. A smiling little spirit followed along behind him, whispering something into his ear that warranted a deep laugh from the green man. Muscle Man noticed Benson by the couch and greeted him, as did High Five Ghost with a wave of his hand that was protruding through his head. They plopped themselves down on the couch and continued their conversation, ignoring their employer. Benson didn't mind. Though they may be… questionable on a good day, they at least got their jobs finished and well done.

_Mr. Blue, you did it right,_

_But soon comes Mr. Night: creeping over_

_Now his hand is on your shoulder._

_Never mind I'll remember you this_

_I'll remember you this way!_

Pops would certainly be up soon enough, and no doubt, he'd bring both Mordecai and Rigby down with them. Benson could hear their alarm from the bottom of the stairs and knew that neither one of them was going to listen to it. It was like clockwork how predictable the day was. Barely passed 8am, and his good mood was already disappearing, being replaced by stress and a wish that he could go back to bed for a couple of hundred days. Still, he had a job and needed the money. Skips was going to be arriving shortly and he was going to help Benson divide up the chores amongst the others.

Benson sighed and sat down in a chair adjacent to the couch. He tried to listen in on Muscle Man and High Five Ghost's conversation, but had trouble following along. He looked down at the coffee table and at Mordecai and Rigby's video game system. Actually, it was Pops, but the park owner had decided to give it to them after he saw how much they enjoyed it. Benson had only played it a few times, and on the occasions he did play it, he had a lot of fun. One of these days he'd actually like to sit down and play through one of their games and beat it. He might actually get to feel a sense of accomplishment then. Anything to get that feeling would be most appreciated.

He leaned back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. As much as he hated his job, it was a necessity in his life. A few minutes pass, and just like that, he drifts off to another dreamless sleep. He wasn't as awake as he had originally thought.

**Mr. Blue Sky **– _Electric Light Orchestra_

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><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Yep... I came back. With what I can only coin as a spiritual successor to Triangles, that originally started off as a prequel, then a pseudo-sequel, and then to just its own story. Anyways...

This is a spiritual sequel to Triangles based off the style of writing, the chapter titles are still songs that inspired me, and the idea of mini arcs. The difference between this and Triangles is that the pacing is a little faster, the arcs are shorter, and the story is a little more lighthearted too. It also focuses squarely on Benson, with the others as story drivers, though there is a central romance, I won't tell with who yet. You'll have to read and find out. So I apologize to any Mordecai and Rigby readers out there: those two are on the sidelines for this story. Also, be on the look out for some guest writers for the story as well! I won't say who, but I know some people already know who. Get excited peoples!

As for this chapter: It was written a long time ago. Written about a month after I finished with Triangles. By then though, I had burned myself out on fanfiction and took a break from it. After a while, I came back to it, finished it, and continued forward with it. Not much else besides that.

Anyways! I'll be updating this behemoth every Monday like I did with Triangles. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Ciao!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	2. Coals

**Chapter Two  
><strong>**Coals**

He hadn't dreamt of anything in a while. Lately, his mind had been so preoccupied with work that he didn't have time to occupy any other thoughts. So when Benson put his head down onto the pillow every night, the only thing he wished for was enough sleep to survive the following day. Blackness overtakes his senses, keeping him warm and calm in his slumber. Sleep was his only refuge from the dregs of work, and protected him like a knight to a damsel. Eventually, he would have to wake up though and face the world once again. But it was comforting that in this world no one could yell at him, nothing could stress him out, no one could berate his authority – it was peace.

Benson felt his body shake outside of the darkness, and groaned as he was dragged out of his peaceful rest. He opened his eyes and let his sight readjust to the light shining in through the windows of the rec house. He was greeted with the site of all of his employees looking on at him with a sense of amusement in their eyes, save for Mordecai and Rigby who didn't look too pleased to be there.

"Gee, Benson," Mordecai yawned, "must be nice to sleep whenever you want, when you're on the clock."

Rigby nodded and gave a brief "Hm-hm" before adding: "Yeah! Want us to fluff your pillow while you're at it?"

Benson let out an aggravated rumble before telling the two to shut up. The duo crossed their arms and gave him a hateful glare. It didn't affect him. He was too used to their stare downs at this point.

The gumball machine stretched his arms and legs out in his chair and noticed a small pressure on his shoulder. He looked over to it and found a hulking white figure gently holding his shoulder. The furry yeti was looking down out him with a neutral expression, one that Benson and the staff were all used to as this point.

"Morning Skips," Benson said as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

The yeti nodded and helped the gumball machine up onto his feet.

A small giggle escaped the mouth of a tall man with an enormous head on the couch. He held his hands close to his mouth as his head shook happily. "Benson you were certainly sleeping peacefully," he said with amazement. "I'll bet you are an adorable sight in bed!"

"You wanna know who else is an adorable sight in bed?" Muscle Man rasped to the group. He paused for comical effect before letting loose with a very loud, "my mom!" and high fiving his ghostly companion. There were a few chuckles in the room, but for the most part, people had started getting sick and tired of the green man and his one trick joke.

Benson sighed and shrugged it all off. He stepped away for a moment to go into the kitchen. He returned with a clipboard and pen, ready to dish out all the chores for the day.

"Alright then everyone," he said, clicking his pen open, "let's get started. We got a lot to do as usual, and I'd like us to get as much done before the end of the day as we can. Muscle Man and High Five Ghost: I want you two to rake up all the leaves around the sports fields. The cougars and the leopards are playing on the baseball field at 11am, and the clockworks and the windows are playing on the football field at 1pm, so start on the baseball field first."

Muscle Man stood up with a confident grin and announced that he and HFG were going to "rake the heck out of those leaves!" before letting out a loud wooing yell and exiting the house.

Benson smiled softly, knowing that they would get the job done. He looked down at his clipboard and saw Pops name next. "Pops, the flower garden out back needs watering and the dandelions need to be weeded out. Do you think you can do that before lunch?"

Pops stood from the couch and smiled warmly at the gumball machine. "The task shall be done with ease, Benson my good man!" Another small fit of laughter and Pops escaped into the kitchen to leave out the back door.

The gumball machine didn't even need to look at his clipboard to know the name of the two who were next. "Mordecai and Rigby," he started, before taking a long pause. He flipped through the pages on the clipboard to see what he could find. He didn't feel like giving them a big job today. They'd just screw it up somehow. He noticed something on the last page and thought it to be perfect for them. "I need you two to patch up the cracks on the basement floor."

The bird and raccoon were slightly surprised by the chore that they were given. It wasn't everyday they were given an assignment so miniscule and simple. All it involved was mixing up some instant cement, and laying it down on the floor. However, knowing those two they'd find a way to screw it up or half ass it somehow. Still, Benson was surprisingly optimistic so he let them loose.

"There's instant cement already in the basement," he said as he wrote their chore next to their names. "Use the dirty bucket to mix it. You shouldn't need that much anyways. Can I trust you two to get this done before the end of the day?"

The two nodded.

Rigby's eyes grew confident as he smirked at his boss. "We're gonna seal those cracks up better than the ones on your head!"

Benson flinched at that remark. He placed his hand on top of his head and tried to feel for anything out of place. Lo and behold, right at the base of the red cover on his head was a small, though noticeable, hairline crack. "Great," he thought to himself, "I get to spend another $40 getting that repaired."

Mordecai noticed his worry and decided to do his best to cheer him up a bit. "Don't worry about it Benson! When we're done, the only crack you'll have to look at is the disfigured one underneath Rigby's tail."

The raccoon quickly folded his tail over his rump and screamed at his friend. Benson didn't care and instead scratched at the crack on his head.

"Don't scratch at it," Skips said in a monotone voice. "You'll only make it spread further."

Benson pulled his hand away and sighed. "I guess I'll go to the clinic during lunch and have it fixed. Ugh, I hate being a gumball machine sometimes." He expected some sympathy from Skips, but was instead gifted with an uncaring shrug. He didn't expect anything less from the yeti. Turning back to the raccoon and blue jay, he found them still arguing and joking at one another. "Get to work!" Benson yelled at the two, setting them straight. They half heartedly apologized and left to go do their work.

After they left, Benson took another look down at his clipboard and the rest of the chores available. "One of the trees by the fountain is dead," he said to Skips, clicking his pen closed. "We need to cut it down today."

"What about the stump?" Skips asked curiously.

"We don't have the proper tools to remove it yet," Benson answered. "We'll just need to leave it there for the time being. It won't be hurting anyone so it should be alright until we can get a professional to help get it out of the ground."

Skips nodded and headed for the front door. He had always considered himself a professional, but he wasn't going to argue with his boss about it. "I'll go get the cart ready," he said before exiting. This left Benson all alone in the house.

He sighed deeply and looked back at the chair he had been sleeping in. He really wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew that there was still too much to be done for the park. He could sleep later when he was off the clock. If it weren't for the crack on his head, he could have probably slept during his lunch break. Instead, he was going to be busy, going to the clinic and getting his glass repaired yet again. His chance at relaxation was going to have to take a backseat for a while.

He stepped outside and found Skips already putting some axes and walkie-talkies into the back of the golf cart, as well as some bottled water for the two of them. Benson grinned slightly at the yeti's thoughtful nature and jumped into the driver's seat.

"You feeling alright?" the yeti asked with little care. It wasn't meant to come off as mean or unfeeling, but more of something everyday you ask a person.

Benson shrugged. He wasn't really sure what "alright" meant anymore, but he wasn't feeling sad or depressed. He knew later on he would more than likely be angry, but currently, he was pretty calm. "I'm fine," he replied to the yeti, "why do you ask?"

Skips mimicked the gumball machine's shrug and added a, "just asking," before jumping into the passenger side front seat of the cart.

"Well you know," Benson added in a sort of tired tone, "just another day." He gently pressed down on the gas pedal and the cart went speeding off into the park.

The day continued on just as Benson had always known it would: predictably. He and Skips took turns handling the axes and trying to chop the stubborn tree down. It had been there longer than either of them had worked there, possibly longer than Pops had even been there. Benson looked at it with stubborn ambition, knowing that if he and the yeti worked together with the same amount of force, they could get the tree down before noon at the latest. Skips looked at the tree with some sort of fondness, possibly comparing it to himself with their age and resilience. The only difference between them was that Skips was still alive. This tree had grown old and sick and could no longer keep itself from avoiding Death. The time had finally come for it to be laid to rest.

When the tree had been cut enough at the stem, the two men got on the cut side and pushed as hard as they could. The tree shook and waved uneasily, but it refused to budge. They rammed against it, causing the cut to spread and the base to splinter. They repeated the process every few seconds until finally, with an unearthly cry, the tree plummeted to the ground, breaking itself off from its stump. Whatever dead and dried out leaves that were left on the tree tumbled off as soon as their home hit the ground.

Benson wiped the sweat from his brow and placed his hand on his hips. He looked over to Skips and gave him an accomplished smile. Skips nodded back and approached the tree. He took another look at it and sighed. "You know we still need to cut this thing up," he said to his coworker.

"I know," Benson replied. "Let's take five minutes to break first. Cutting that thing down was hard work." He wasn't surprised to see the yeti give another shrug before hopping on the fallen tree and sitting patiently.

"Of course this was easy for Skips," Benson thought, "he's been alive forever. He's probably cut thousands of trees down before." He didn't think too hard on it though, and joined the yeti on the tree with his bottle of water in hand. Neither of them said much of anything to one another, save for the occasional small talk that help speed the few minutes up for a time.

"Hey Skips," Benson said, "how old are you?"

The yeti simply gave yet another shrug and answered. "I can't really remember to be honest. Years tend to go by like days for me."

Benson didn't poke further into Skips' personal life. The subject of his immortality usually ended up being a short lived conversation. In fact, almost anything involving Skips' past was met with little more than a grunt, or a cryptic answer.

"How old are you?" the yeti countered back at him.

Benson chortled slightly and looked up at the sky. "Older than most people think, I can tell you that. I really don't like thinking about my age though."

"I understand," Skips replied. "I don't either."

They looked at each other and gave one another a neutral sort of expression that represented their understanding of one another. It was strange what the two of them were. Neither could call the other friend, but they certainly seemed to get along well enough. Benson and Pops shared close to the same thing, though Pops was a little more sympathetic than the other. Skips and Pops were pretty much the closest things Benson had to what could be called friendship, and he rarely showed it. Muscle Man and High Five Ghost were simply coworkers that Benson wanted to know nothing about, and reversely, they thought the same of him. And then there were Mordecai and Rigby… he didn't want to get into that. The staff were all friendly with one another to the point of working together, but never anything outside of the park unless it was a work event or one of the rare occasions in which they all decided to go out to eat or have some sort of fun. And while that was nice and was able to achieve the usual smile, it didn't feel like real friendship to Benson. In some cases, it just felt forced.

A sharp fuzz sounded from the walk-talkie Benson had with him. Someone was trying to get in touch. He brought the device close to him and pressed the talk button on the side. "Who is it? What's going on?" he asked.

There was a slight fizzle of sound and static from the receiving end before any voice appeared. The familiar high tone of Rigby came from it a moment later. "Benson! Skips!" he screamed from other end. "You gotta get here quick! It's ghosts!"

"Ghosts?" Benson huffed into the speaker. Skips looked at the device with an interest as Benson replied to the distressed raccoon. "Like spooky, haunted sort of ghosts? Are you guys kidding me? Is this supposed to be some sort of ploy to get out of doing your work?"

The noise from the other end then grew louder and the sound of something collapsing echoed out of the speaker. Silence came after that as the feedback disappeared. Benson and Skips looked at one another and jumped off the tree. Their chore would have to wait until they could figure out what was going on back at the house.

They drove steadfast back to the rec house, curious as to what Rigby meant by the word "ghosts". It couldn't have been actual, factual ghosts. They didn't exist. But Benson knew better considering all the strange and bizarre things that happened in that park on a weekly basis. He was also assured by Skips that ghosts did in fact exist, and that when they got there he would be able to assess the damage and whether or not an exorcism needed to be performed. Thanks to Skips, Benson was no longer skeptical of yet another of life's mysteries.

They arrived at the back of the house, greeted by Pops waving as he held a basket full of dandelions. Benson was glad that his boss was getting his chore done without any problems.

Skips flung the wooden door titling against the base of the house open and skipped inside with Benson in tow. They caught their breath and surveyed the area for anything that might seem out of place.

The room itself was what you'd expect: a pretty vacant open area with stairs leading up into the inside of the house, with the spare exit they had just used leading up into the backyard. Another door across from that led into the freezer where all the food and perishables were held for picnic and party events. However, what shouldn't have been there was the giant gaping hole that took about 75% of the floor that seemed to go on into oblivion.

Benson looked down at it with wide eyes, not entirely sure what to say or do. It was impossible for the two to create a hole that deep, and yet they had accomplished such a feat. How they did it was another question altogether. He glared over to a corner of the room to find Mordecai and Rigby huddled up against each other with looks of shock and awe on their faces.

"WHAT HAPPENED!" Benson screamed at them.

"Dude!" Mordecai began as he moved around the hole to get to Benson. "We were just sitting here minding our own business and working on the cracks when this weird ghostly noise came out of nowhere and scared the S out of us!"

"Just a noise?" Benson laughed. "You're serious? You guys actually got scared of something that wasn't even trying to hurt you?"

"That's not the point!" Rigby backed up. "It was just wailing and screaming everywhere, and then there was this laugh, and it called out our names!"

"So you guys actually didn't see anything?"

"Well," Rigby continued, "there wasn't anything actually there, but something was out to get us!"

Mordecai nodded to confirm.

Benson wasn't sure whether or not to believe their hackneyed story. He looked down at the hole and then back to them. "And the hole?"

The two averted their gaze of Benson as looks of embarrassment swept across their faces. "I kind of made the hole while you were talking with Rigby over the radio," Mordecai admitted.

"You what!" Benson yelled. "What on Earth compelled you to do that!"

"I thought it was trying to tell us something, like there was a dead body underneath the floor or something. How were we supposed to know that there was a big deep tunnel underneath the house?"

"Yeah Benson," Rigby added, "how WOULD we know?" The raccoon slit his eyes and stared at the gumball machine accusingly.

"I didn't know either," Benson replied to him. "This house has been here for as long as Pops has been working here."

"Pops is the murderer!" Rigby came to the conclusion. Mordecai scratched his chin and nodded in agreement.

"No ones a murderer!" Benson yelled. He looked around whatever was left of the room for something else. "And how did you manage to break through the concrete AND make a hole that big in such a little amount of time."

Mordecai pointed his thumb to the corner where there were huddled in. A pickaxe was laying quietly on the floor. It made Benson realize that they desperately needed to move certain things from the basement to the tool shed. "I just used that," Mordecai answered, "and the rest of the floor kind of collapsed in on its own."

Benson felt like attacking the two of them. He wanted to lift both the bird and mammal high over his head, throw them into the pit, and see how long it takes before he heard a thud. In his mind, he imagined Skips shrugging it off and going along with his life. But the real world Skips would no doubt turn him into the police, so his murder fantasy was just going to have to hold off until there were no witnesses around. Speaking of his yeti companion…

"Skips, you said you could see if there are ghosts here right?" Benson asked the man.

He didn't answer back at first. The yeti was too busy skipping around the room and looking at every single detail about it. He examined the edges of the hole and the air around the room as well. His expression didn't seem to change at all, so it was difficult for the group to tell whether or not he had found anything. After a minute or so, he approached Benson and confirmed his investigation.

"I don't sense any unnatural spirits here," the yeti announced.

Both Mordecai and Rigby groaned with the usual "are you kidding" and "say what?"

"In fact," Skips continued, "I don't see any evidence of ghosts in the basement. There's no spectral trail, no ectoplasm, and I don't sense any spiritual imprints left on the walls or nothing."

That was all Benson needed to hear on the subject. His face grew bright red, eventually switching over to a devilish fuchsia. "NOT ONLY DO YOU TWO DESTROY THE PLACE, BUT YOU LIE TO MY FACE!"

"We weren't lying Benson," Mordecai argued.

"We really did hear something!" Rigby added. "Don't get your gumballs in a twist."

That wasn't what the park manager wanted to hear from one of his underlings. At the very least he expected an apology and a commitment to fixing the damage. If they really wanted to be helpful, they would tender their resignation and be out of the house before the end of the day. But that was wishful thinking on Benson's end.

"They may HAVE heard something, Benson," Skips noted as he looked at the gumball machine.

The deep color flushed away from Benson's face as he listened to Skips. "What do you mean?"

"They may really have heard something that was out of place," the yeti continued. "I mean this hole certainly isn't normal by any means." He looked at the two who were agreeing with him on every level. His sight shifted back to Benson and then the hole. "It's alright though; I can take care of this."

"Really?" Benson said unbelieving. "These two slackers destroy the basement and you're the one volunteering to fix it for them?"

"It's no trouble," Skips said uncaring, "it'll take me two hours at most if I skip lunch. I can use the lumber from the tree we cut down to make a temporary cover for it."

"Why not just cover it with a tarp?" Rigby asked.

Skips kneels down and looks deep into the ghastly tunnel. "On the off chance you guys really did hear something, I don't think we should take chances." He stood up and looked to Benson again. "I gotta go take care of the tree first, and I don't think we should leave this thing here alone."

Benson gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in anger. He wanted to fire the two right on the spot, but Skips was protecting them. Why was Benson not surprised? "You two stay here and watch the hole!" Benson demanded the two young men across from him.

"Are you kidding?" Rigby asked seriously. "I don't wanna stay here and get attacked by a ghost again."

The rage filled color then returned to the gumball machine's face, triggered on by the raccoon's defiance. "You both are going to sit here and watch this hole til Skips gets back, OR YOU'RE BOTH FIRED!" That threat usually held some water even if Benson had used it more than usual. It seemed to work as the two grunted and cursed under their breath, but agreed to the chore nonetheless. "Good," Benson added as his face returned to its usual see through complexion.

He looked to Skips and sighed. "C'mon, Skips. Let's go cut up that tree."

"It's alright Benson," the yeti said. "I can take care of it by myself. Besides, you should probably go get your head fixed."

"You better listen to him, Benson," Mordecai agreed.

At first, the gumball machine had no idea what it was they were talking about, but then remembered earlier. He felt at the hairline crack on the side of his head and found that it had spread. In fact, it spread to the point where it was almost halfway down the side of his head. He was about to yell in anger, but knew that would only make the fracture worse. He calmed down slowly and took a deep breath.

"I really hate my body," he mumbled to the group. It was close to lunch time anyways, and he did say he was going to go into town and get it worked on. He didn't say goodbye or wave to the group as he exited the basement door into the outside of the house.

As he jumped into the golf cart, he noticed Pops coming toward him with his usual smile. Benson was not in the mood to deal with the naïve man but knew if he said that, it would only upset Pops for the rest of the day.

"Oh Benson," Pops called out as he approached the cart. "Look at this!" He held out his basket which was now filled to the brim with dandelions both of the yellow petal and cotton seed variety. The gumball machine looked behind the tall gentleman and found the garden looking about half lovely, with the other half still full of weeds that cluttered up the place and gave it a terrible presentation.

Benson gave him a false grin and nodded. "That's great Pops," he said with as much forced contentment as he could, "just great." Still, he wasn't mad at Pops. The garden was coming along well enough. At least something in the park was.

He then drove off into the city with the sound of a happy old man fading away behind him.

**Coals –**_ The Dodos_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Not quite sure what to say about this chapter. I suppose it's just another chapter meant for the readers to get a good feel for the characters, and it helps push the start of the story along. The start of long stories can be a pain to write, believe me. It's difficult to try and hold a reader's attention long enough to keep them reading for the following weeks, and I hope that I was able to do that with you. But it's all coming together, just you wait and see.

I kind of hope I haven't written Benson to be too angry or anything like that. It seems like I've written him to be sort of someone let down by the world, but really he's just in a rut. I think most of us have gotten into one of those before, and not only is it difficult to break free of them, they can be pretty harsh on one's emotions. I guarantee you though that Benson will not come off as emo as he looks so far. Hahahaha!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	3. Concept 16

**Chapter Three**

**Concept 16**

Coffee was such a strange smell to Benson. The distinct aroma was there, but at the same time, it wasn't. It was that of a lingering scent that caused his spine to shiver but his curiosity to pique. Or perhaps it was just the type of coffee beans that were used by the Coffee Shop café down the street of the park. They always did know how to brew a good cup of joe, even if Benson was pretty neutral on drinking coffee. It was too bitter for him, even with lots of cream and sugar swirling about in it. Probably the only reason he drank it was to give him a small caffeine boost to get him through the day. And very rarely did he ever actually buy it from the Coffee Shop. The stuff that was delivered to them in bulk was good enough for him. He couldn't taste the difference anyways.

He descended the stairs right on the inside of the shop and looked around the room. The place was your usual fair café complete with booths and long tables with patrons sitting here and there chatting with one another about their lives. A few pieces of modern art were strewn here and there on the walls, giving the place a bit of class, with a random TV placed at low volume with wrestling brightly broadcasting that crowned out the shop's definition of the word "art". A windowed counter showed off the many different types of delicious baked treats that anyone could order were they to afford the $4 croissants or the $5 muffins – too expensive for Benson's blood. It was a nice and quiet little place. Benson enjoyed the sort of stifled murmurs that echoed throughout the room. It was actually relaxing.

Though he enjoyed the Coffee Shop, this was really more of a Mordecai and Rigby sort of joint. They came in just about everyday, compared to Benson's last visit (two months), spending their paychecks on processed coffee beans for $7 a cup. He didn't know exactly what they put in there to warrant that price, but he assumed it had to be laced with gold and filled to the brim with ambrosia for it to be that costly, compared to something he could get for a dollar or less at any old gas station.

He noticed the chalk board menu above the counter, and checked to see if there was anything he might want, or even afford for that matter. He tapped his foot impatiently as he realized that nothing really sounded too appetizing or even remotely interesting. He barely understood what 75% of the things on the board even were. Caramel Macchiato Hazelnut Twist? What the hell was that, he wondered. Benson pondered to whatever happened to just coffee with sugar, cream, milk, or other little things like that. He grimaced when noticed a black coffee in its smallest size was $3. This was definitely not the place for him.

He was about to step away and leave when the door to the kitchen swung open and out stepped a tall red feathered robin donned in an apron and work uniform. "Hi, how can I help you?" she greeted with little fervor.

The woman smiled when she noticed who it was. She recognized the person in front of her in an instant, having seen him come in once or twice, usually with Mordecai and Rigby. "Oh hey!" she said enthusiastically. "How are you doing, Benson?"

There she was, Benson thought to himself. This was the girl from the Coffee Shop; the girl that Mordecai just wouldn't shut up about. Benson had met her on several occasions before, though he never directly spoke to her for long periods of time. She was just another woman trying to make it by in his eyes. Though he did admit, it was rather entertaining to watch Mordecai pine over something that he'd more than likely never have.

"Hi Margaret," Benson replied to her. "How are you doing today?"

She shrugged and took a quick glance around the room. "I'm doing fine. I wish it would pick up a bit though. Eileen and I are pretty bored right now."

Eillen: Margaret's mole best friend. Not nearly as joined at the hip as Mordecai and Rigby, but still close enough. The red robin and mole had a much healthier relationship than the blue jay and raccoon, Benson observed. At least, this is what he gathered when seeing all of them together.

Margaret sighed and rested her head on the counter. "Makes me wonder why the boss is trying to hire more help."

"You're hiring right now," Benson asked, "with this kind of traffic?"

"Yeah, I know," Margaret said, "it doesn't make much sense to us either. Frankly, the Coffee Shop was fine with just Eileen, the boss, and myself." She peeks up at Benson and gives him a sly grin. "I think she's only doing it because she's going through a nasty divorce with her husband, and doesn't want to actually do any work."

Benson chuckled at the gossip. He wasn't a huge fan of it, but when you worked in a place like this, it was pretty much all you had to get through the day. That and a never ending supply of caffeine.

"That bad, huh," Benson said, feigning some interest.

"The worst," she answered picking herself up from the counter. "I haven't met him myself, but I hear he's an absolute psychopath. I even heard he threatened in public to kill her, right in the middle of a music store."

"Sounds like he's got some major problems."

Margaret giggled slightly before delivering her follow up. "From what I heard, when he did that she picked up a stereo speaker and smashed it over his head. Or so Eileen tells me."

Benson nodded tediously, and eyed the exit to the shop. He did not feel like listening to any of this hearsay and gossip about people he would probably never meet. It didn't interest him, and he needed to get back to the park anyways.

"So I guess you have today off?" Margaret asked.

Benson returned to her and shook his head. "No, I'm just on my lunch break. I had to go to my doctor and get a crack in my dome repaired." He then proceeded to knock on his head playfully, though he was unsure why he did.

"Well you look great!" Margaret beamed. "A crack in the head though? Maybe you should stop stressing out so much. Mordecai and Rigby are always telling us how stressed out you always are."

The gumball machine glared at her. "They honestly said I stress a lot, in those exact words?"

"Well," she added, shifting her gaze away slightly, "those weren't the exact words. But that was pretty much the gist of what they were saying!"

No doubt those two had been doing nothing but bad mouthing Benson behind his back again. He knew they did it to the other employees, he saw that they did it at the karaoke bar, they even insulted him to his face on numerous occasions. His blood was beginning to boil just thinking about it. But then he remembered he just got back from the doctor, and was once again instructed to keep his temper to a minimum. Benson took in a deep breath and began to audibly count to ten.

Margaret shifted uncomfortably in her place. "Sorry," she tried to apologize, "I didn't mean to upset you or anything."

Benson sighed and waved her apology away from him. "You didn't do anything wrong, don't worry. I need to be getting back to the park anyways."

"Hold on," Margaret stopped him, "isn't there anything you wanted before you go?" She pointed to some of the goodies in the glass casing, hoping to entice the gumball machine in some way or another.

"Too pricey for me," Benson said as he began to walk away. "I think I'll just stop at the gas station across the street and get something."

"Wait, wait, stop!" she pleaded.

Benson relented and stopped with an exasperated sigh. He turned back to her and found the bird hastily pouring hot coffee, and mixing things in. She was up to something. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Just hold on a sec," she requested.

About two minutes pass, and in that time she had added pinches of spice and other mixtures, stirring them up while adding in a little cream and sugar, as well as some mystery substance that Benson had no clue as to what it was. She put a cardboard holder around the cup to keep Benson from burning himself, and a lid on top. She then walked around the counter and met with the gumball machine.

"Here," she said holding it out to him, "free of charge."

Benson looked at the large cup of mystery beverage and then back to her. He shook his head saying he couldn't take it.

"Go on," she whispered to him, forcing the cup in his hand. "You need it."

"I need it?" Benson asked with curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

She smiled sympathetically and said: "I know Mordecai and Rigby can be a handful. I've been around them when all that crazy stuff happens, so I know how stressful they can be. So it's free because I think you need all the strength you can get to deal with them." She followed that up with a deep and beautiful laugh.

For a split second, Benson could understand what there was in Margaret that Mordecai actually liked: a sense of compassion. He returned a small smile to her and thanked her for the beverage, which she gladly accepted.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" she asked of him as he exited the Coffee Shop. She was left alone again in the quiet little café, her boredom slowly returning to her. She looked over to the few patrons that were still here. They were busy conversing with each other over some band she really didn't like. She returned to the kitchen to chat with Eileen, and hoped that it might help alleviate some of the tedium.

Benson, on the other hand, didn't have time for boredom. He knew he had to get back to the park ASAP and deal with the problem that Mordecai and Rigby had caused. He still couldn't believe they were using ghosts as an excuse.

The gumball machine jumped into the golf cart and turned on the engine. He looked behind him and in front of him, making sure he could get out of his parallel parking space without any issue. He hadn't hit anybody yet, so it was smooth sailing from there. He took a small sip of the mystery drink as he backed out and stopped the cart. It was surprisingly good. The bitter tang of the coffee wasn't there, but a hint of the taste certainly was. More so, it was overpowered by a chocolate kind of flavor and a hint of nut. There was some sweetness, but not so much that it hurt the drink. He liked it actually. He probably wouldn't have paid for it anyways, but it was free, so he tried not to complain. He mentally thanked Margaret again, and sped along to the park. His day was getting slightly brighter.

However, when Benson crossed under the archways into the park, a sense of doom and gloom filled his heart. Something was definitely off. He didn't know what it was though. Some sort of gut feeling pinged in his soul that told him there was some bad news afoot. There were still people and park goers around, enjoying the sunny weather and cool breeze. The birds were still chirping, the squirrels were still squirreling, Muscle Man was still running around shirtless as he did most of the time. Everything seemed to be a part of the status quo. But then why was it that Benson suddenly felt so worried and anxious?

The feeling only amplified as he parked the cart in front of the rec house, and stepped out of the golf cart with a nervous chill passing over him. He wondered if it was all in his head; just the effects of the resin they used to patch up his dome. Whatever it was, it would probably leave on its own. He stepped into the house and looked for the basement door. He wanted to make sure that the job that he had assigned was handled properly. As he approached the door, he could hear soft mumblings of this and that from within the basement. He recognized the voice, but knew that it certainly wasn't Skips or the idiot twins, or Pops, or Muscle Man and High Five Ghost, or any one who worked at the park for the matter. But something about it was familiar. He opened the door, and took some steps down into the cool basement.

"There you are!" screamed a crotchety old voice at Benson.

The gumball machine nearly dropped his coffee and lost his balance on the stairs. He knew that voice all too well. It was old and ragged with a sense of self-esteem destroying malice. Benson felt a lump form in his throat. He swallowed it and donned the best smile he could muster. "Good afternoon, Mr. Maellard," he said to his boss, "what brings you hear today?"

"What brings me hear today!" the crusty old lollipop man mimicked furiously. "I WAS here to see my son and take him out to lunch. But when I found him, he's sitting over there in the corner watching Skips cover up a massive hole in the basement! A HOLE!" Maellard slammed the bottom of his walking cane on the ground before pointing it toward the abyss.

The hole appeared to be more or less covered up with long pieces of lumber from tree, save for a small patch in the floor, no doubt because Maellard had come in to complain. As Benson's eyes followed the cane, he noticed Pops and Skips on the other side of the room: Pops looking apologetic to the gumball machine, and Skips showing his usual stoic expression. Benson would find no help from either of them at this time.

"Sir," Benson began, "I can guarantee you that this, right here, wasn't supposed to happen. Mordecai and Rigby..."

"Don't make excuses!" the old man screamed. "This happened on your watch! Where were you!"

Benson looked over to Skips for help, who nodded and approached the old man.

"We were on the other side of the park, cutting down a tree," the yeti said to him. "We didn't know what had happened until Mordecai and Rigby said something over the radios."

"Still no excuse!" Maellard continued. "Even so, Bentube should have been around to help you clean up the mess. And instead, you are here by yourself, closing up this monstrosity of a hole when he should be doing it." The cane was now redirected at Benson.

The old man glares at the gumball machine and takes a few steps toward him. "And look at this!" Maellard added, pointing the cane at Benson's coffee. "He even had time to go and get himself a treat!" He swiped his cane at the cup, causing the metal man to lose his grip on his drink. The coffee tumbled to the ground, rolled a little bit – spilling some of its still more than half full contents – and dropped into the abyss below.

"I am sick of coming here every time to see only your laziness and irresponsible behavior," Maellard continued to berate. "Everyone here at this park is doing their job except you! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you exactly where you stand?"

"Papa, stop this!" Pops pleaded as he grabbed a hold of his father's shoulder. His eyes looked as though they might begin to bawl out at any moment. "Benson is always doing his job! He does it better than anyone else here! It's why I keep him around, remember?"

"I keep him around!" Maellard explained to his son, pulling himself away from his grasp. "You know I love you Pops, but you need to learn that some people only act a certain way when others of power are around. This man acts responsible around you, but I know the truth! I am sick of having to deal with this every single time I come in here!"

"But you're wrong!" Pops continued to say. "Benson is a good person and a good worker. He deserves a gentleman's respect, Papa."

Skips nodded in agreement and added: "He's right, ya know. Benson does work an awful lot to keep this park going."

Maellard glared at Pops and his employee and sighed in defeat. If both his son and the people he hired were protecting Benson, then perhaps there was some truth to all of this after all. And they were right: Benson did know how to keep the park from burning to the ground or being plunged into total darkness. Maellard rubbed his temple and tried to think of the right words to say to everyone, most of all, Benson. He was a strict and stern man, yes, but no one has ever said that he didn't listen to his employees.

"Alright then," Maellard sighed. "Perhaps I overstepped my boundaries, Bentwo. But I'm only looking out for the well being of the park and my son. And if the workers and my son are saying that you are a competent worker, then I suppose I should take their word for it."

The gumball machine smiled as he listened to his boss let up on him. "Thank you, Mr. Maellard," Benson said to him. He actual meant it too. He had started to worry that his day had gone from manageable to downright depressing. The crisis had been averted

"Yes," Maellard muttered, "but that doesn't mean that you've earned my trust. We'll figure something out in those regards later. Right now, I do believe I am here to take my son to lunch."

Benson's smile spread to Pops as he giggled at the prospect of lunch with his father. The argument had apparently been resolved, and all was well at the park once again, without the need of supernatural intervention or high flying excitement to Benson's surprise. Skips even gave a congratulatory smirk, even though he himself helped to settle the discussion.

A low grumbling rumble tumbled around the room suddenly, and Pops let out a laugh. "You must be quite hungry to have your belly grumble like that, Papa."

Maellard looked at his son with a cocked eyebrow. "I can certainly guarantee you that that was not my stomach, Pops."

The large headed man grew slightly puzzled and stared over at Skips. The yeti shook his head, denying Pops suspicions. He looked to Benson who just shrugged and said that it wasn't him.

"I swear I heard something," Benson added.

The grumbling returned for a second time, only now adding a small wail in the process. It sent shivers down everyone's (save for Skips) spine. They all looked around the room for the cause of the strange sound. It came about again, getting louder, screaming out another high pitched yell. Benson took a few steps back, beginning to wonder if perhaps Mordecai and Rigby were indeed telling the truth this time around. Then, the realization hit them all at once, and they stared down at the partially covered hole.

"It's coming from there," Maellard said as he took a small step toward it. He bent down slightly to see if he could make out anything in the darkness. Nothing seemed out of place.

The wood began to crack and bend inward. All of them took a step back as they watched the lumber bend inside and shake violently. The sound of them breaking grew louder and more pronounced until the wood began to snap in half, one by one, falling into the darkness of the pit. As the wood tumbled down, the ghostly moan shook the foundations of all except Skips.

The yeti squinted his eyes in ready, and clenched his fists. He knew something was coming up. Benson knew something was approaching as well. This was exactly how these things played out. Everything seemed to have resolved, but instead it got worse. The two men looked at each other and knew that they needed to be ready for whatever it was that was coming their way.

Another wail spiked from the hole, only this time, it was speaking words understood to all. "Yooooouuuuuuuu…" it moaned in a barely understandable rasp. "Diiiiiiiid yooooouuuu foooooorgeeeeeeeeet meeeeeee sooooooo eaaaaaaaaasilyyyyyyy?"

An elongated hand stretched forth from out of the darkness and latched onto Maellard's leg. It came out of nowhere, brandishing its long razor sharp nails and black as night complexion. It tugged as hard as it could and brought the old man to the floor. Maellard screamed for help as he was slowly dragged into the abyss.

Pops screamed. Skips jumped. The yeti just barely was able to get a hold of Maellard's hand as he was being pulled down. With a quick chop of his hand against the arm of the creature, he freed the old man as the monster screamed out in pain. Skips quickly pulled Maellard back into the basement and pushed him to the side out of the way.

"Skips," Maellard coughed. "You saved me! You won't regret this, I swear!"

"Shut up!" the yeti snapped at him. Maellard was left quiet as Skips listened for what was going on underneath.

"Yooooooouuuuuu… MONSTER!" it screamed.

Dozens of elongated arms with big hands and long fingernails erupted from the hole, scratching and feeling along the floors and walls of the basement.

It screamed as loud as it could as it searched for its prey. "WHHHEEEEEEREEEEEEE! WHHEEEEEEREEEEEEE!"

Skips looked for an opening and took it. He attacked the hands drawing them back into the darkness momentarily as he propped open the door leading outside. "Let's go!" he yelled as he instructed everyone to escape.

Pops and Maellard wasted no time in their escape, doing their best to avoid the snatch of its hands. They both breathed a sigh of relief as they escaped its grasp and made it into the outside world.

"Benson! C'mon!" Skips screamed.

Benson didn't need to be instructed to leave. He was only a few steps behind Pops and Maellard, and had no intention of being pulled into the darkness today.

But as he reached for the first step up to freedom, he felt something tug at his heel.

"Yoooooooooouuuuuuu tooooooooooook myyyyyyyyyyyy happiiiiiiiiiiiiiines awwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaay…"

Benson looked over at Skips, and the yeti looked back, both of them knowing what was about to happen. Skips reached out his arm to grab Benson, and the gumball machine extended his in return. Their fingers were only able to touch as every single devilish hand in the room wrapped itself around Benson and dragged him into the hole.

Skips and the basement faded away as Benson was pulled in, growing dimmer and dimmer, eventually turning into a speck. And then finally, when there was nothing left but the darkness and the wind from his fall, Benson began to panic.

**Concept 16 – **_Kodomo_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Well, we got Margaret and Maellard introduced now, and yes, we will be seeing more of them later on in the story. They are regulars here. Also, look at that! It's a monster! It wouldn't be Regular Show if we didn't have some sort of screwed up supernatural element that didn't make any sense, huh?

Not much to mention on this chapter I'm afraid. It was meant to introduce Margaret and Maellard mostly, and also to speed the progress of the story along with the thing now coming out of the hole. But other than that, not much to report with it. But you know what I'd like to see more of in the show: more Margaret and Benson interaction. They just seem like they'd get along just fine for some reason, or is that just me thinking that? Hahahaha!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	4. Panic Attack

**Chapter Four**

**Panic Attack**

The lights from above were gone, and with that, Benson was plunged into the darkness with nothing but himself and these things. Time had become a foreign element to him in his fear, as his mind scrambled to figure out what was happening. Benson could feel the gears inside him turn faster as the adrenaline was flushed into his system. His feet began to shake and wiggle, doing their best to break free and fall into a sprint. But the hands had completely wrapped themselves around him. Whether he liked it or not, he wasn't going anywhere.

His thoughts focused on what was going to happen to him. He had dealt with so many monsters and abominations since starting at the park, causing the question to be rather redundant at this point in his career. Chances are it was the same as all the rest of his little ordeals: it would drag him down to the bottom, and probably try to kill him in some brutal and/or horrific fashion. During those times though, he was able to escape with little to no problem, usually thanks to convenience or a park co-worker showing up at the very last second. Benson wasn't so sure about that this time though. It felt like he had been pulled down pretty far.

The other question that persisted in the back of his head was what is a creature of darkness doing underneath the basement? Surely, it couldn't have been there this whole time, could it? He would need to ask Pops and Maellard about it, when he got back; if he got back for that matter.

More so, why did it even go after Maellard? Did this thing have some sort of connection with the city's most wealthy citizen?

Benson could feel himself slow down from the fall. Some of the hands had begun to loosen their grips, going as far as falling off and distancing themselves away from the gumball machine. Soon, only one hand had a hold of the man by his throat, and it too eventually placed him gently on the ground and disappeared into the blind darkness like the rest.

Benson couldn't see a thing. He could feel the ground: smooth, flat, and hard too. He couldn't tell if it was tile, or concrete, or stone, or whatever, but it seemed to be perfect not to be hand made. He then clutched at the air around him seeking desperately for anything to grab a hold of and keep his bearings straight. It surprised him how disorienting the darkness truly was when in a state of panic. He took in a few deep breaths and tried to keep himself calm. But he found this task rather difficult when he heard the sound of something shuffling towards him.

Something around him was slowly shambling closer and closer. It didn't have any particular characteristics in its sound that stood out. Just a low shambling that sounded like someone scraping across the ground.

"Yooooooouuuuuuu… caaaaaaaaame baaaaaaaaaaack…" the creature moaned as it continued to approach Benson.

The gumball machine said nothing and began to run in the opposite direction of the voice. He knew that eventually he'd have to find a wall, and there would instinctively have to be a door somewhere around there. Of course there would. That's usually how these things worked, right?

He sprinted along the hard floor in the darkness with his arms out stretched, searching frantically for the wall. But it never came. He was eternally running for at least five whole minutes, slowing down to catch his breath every so often. All the while the shambling got closer and closer, etching ever so slightly towards him. Benson picked his speed back up and continued through the darkness. The metal of his feet clanking against the floor contrasted with the slow shuffling of the creature behind him. It was all deafened by the sound of his own breathing and heartbeat as he slowly began to lose the strength to keep moving.

The elements were against him. A world in this state wasn't made for him, and put the gumball machine at a disadvantage. He tripped on his own foot and fell to the floor, his head bouncing once as he did. He sat up and felt at his head. Of course, there was a brand new crack there, adding insult to injury with the rest of his day. He tried to get up and keep running, but he only got a couple of steps when his exhaustion kicked back up and forced him to the floor again. This time, he made sure to catch himself with his hands. But even they gave out and his head hit the floor again – this time with a crack.

His head went dizzy for a moment, swimming in confusion and pain. For a time he had forgotten who he was, and why he was there: simply watching the beautiful green colored patterns dance within his vision. He smiled for a split second at them, only to realize that the monster was still coming closer to him. He clung to the floor and began to drag himself away from the shambling stranger.

"Cooooooooooome baaaaaaaaack tooooooooooo meeeeeeeeee!" the monster screamed toward Benson. "IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII wasssssssssn'ttttt fiiiiiiniiiiisheeeeeeeeed befoooooooooore…"

Benson struggled to keep himself moving. His legs felt like jelly, his head hurt like hell, his gears were turning so fast he was afraid they might break, and his arms were slowly beginning to give out. The monster was almost upon him and he had nowhere to go.

Something lashed out from behind Benson and wrapped its hands around his mouth and chest. Benson tried to scream, but the hand over his mouth stopped him from saying any word louder than a squeak. It wasn't much, but he at least got that out.

"Whaaaaaaaat waaaaassssssss thaaaaaaaaat!" the creature moaned, in front of Benson.

Benson went wide eyed when he realized that the monster he was running from was just barely in front of him, but still some distance away. Whatever had grabbed him had done so from behind. Benson's hands felt at his attacker for whatever it could be. He felt muscular flesh across the chest, soft fur on the arms, and a surprisingly small head for such a well built body.

"Shh!" Skips silenced. "It can't see us," he whispered in a tone that was barely clear, "at least I don't think it can."

Benson's body was trembling terribly. All these surprises within only about ten to fifteen minutes were causing his body to react without the consent of his mind. He might have a gear attack if he didn't calm down soon. He could hear his insides tick away in fright as the monster continued to come closer.

_Tick…_

_Tick…_

_Tick…_

_Tick…_

_Tick…_

"I caaaaaan heeeeaaaaaaaar yoooooooouuuuuur heeeeeeeeearrrrrrrt beeeeeeaaaaaaaat," the shambling form giggled. It then stopped in the darkness, causing the awful dragging sound to cease. "Aaaaaaaare yoooooouuuuu tickiiiiiiiiiing? Theeeeeeen youuuuuuu arrrrrrrreeeeeeen't…?"

Skips tightened his grip around Benson's chest. He could feel the ticking of Benson's gears and cogs against his body. They were running what seemed like two miles a minute. Anymore panic and it would probably put Benson's body at serious risk for mechanical failure. Even worse, it gave the monster a chance to find them. Whatever was in the darkness, its blindness only caused his sense of sound to intensify.

"You need to calm down," Skips said close to Benson. "It can hear your insides beating like a jack hammer. It's an easy way for it to find us."

Benson already knew he needed to calm down. His body was already in excruciating pain thanks to his sprint and fall. He didn't realize that his "heart" beating was causing their assailant to find them though. He wanted to cool his panic, but his mind filled with impending images of doom and gloom, sprinkled vigorously with a hint or gore. He couldn't calm down. It was beginning to make his body go numb.

"Calm down," Skips said to Benson, his tone a little more serious.

"Whhhhhhaaaaaattttt iiiiiiiiis thiiiiiiiisssssss?" the monster pondered. "A seeeeeeecccccoooonnnnnd ppppaaaaaaaaaaaaaartyyyyyyyyy guueeeeeeeeeeest?"

Skips bit his teeth together. It wouldn't be long before this thing found the both of them. He needed to get Benson out of there as soon as possible, and if there was anytime left, he could work on himself. This feat could be accomplished with more ease if Benson would have just relaxed. But to no avail, his insides were still racing and showing no signs of letting up.

"Calm down!" Skips said loudly.

"Thhheeeeeerrrrrreeeee yyoooooouuuuu aaaaarrrrreeeeeee!" the creature screeched. A sudden rush of shuffling began to come towards the two of them. It had found them, no thanks to Skips yelling.

The yeti cursed himself for his own stupidity and jumped up, clutching Benson in his arms. He knew the gumball machine was tired, and he couldn't risk letting him run on his own. He flung the terrified man over his shoulder and made a mad skipping dash away from the chasing mystery.

Sensing their impending escape, the thing increased its speed, and did its best to catch up to the two trying to escape. It took long leaps and bounds, making crashing sounds every time it touched the floor. It laughed wildly as it slowly caught up to Skips and Benson.

Though Skips really couldn't see, he knew that thing was catching up fast, and would probably be all over them in a matter of seconds. He had to act fast.

"Benson!" he screamed out. "Do you trust me?"

Benson hopped and jumped around on the yeti's shoulder as Skips' body swayed back and forth from constantly switching legs to skip away. It was actually making him slightly nauseated, but he was at least able to make out what the yeti asked. "Of course I do," Benson yelled to him. "Why are you asking that now!"

"Beeeeeensooooooon?" the monster screamed quizzically. "Whhhhhhoooooooo iiiiiiisssssssss Beeeeeeeenssooooooon?"

Both Skips and Benson grimaced at that question, choosing to ignore it and continue on with their own conversation.

"I'm going to throw you as hard as I can," Skips continued from earlier.

"WHAT!" Benson screamed. "Why on Earth would you do that!"

"JUST TRUST ME!" Skips yelled as he took the gumball machine in both hands. It was rare to hear Skips actually raise his voice in such a situation.

Benson had no choice but to put his trust in the yeti. So he took a deep breath as he felt himself get pulled back by the white hulk, and held it. Like a cannon filled with gunpowder, Benson was thrown hard. He soared through the air for a few seconds, his mind caught in confusion.

But just like that, within a second, the sight of the basement came into view. He didn't go up, nor did the basement slowly start as a dot and work its way to being within a full view. It just sort of appeared right there, with Pops looking down and his hand extended. Benson seized the opportunity and took the big headed man's hand as he reached the top. He was pulled up immediately, back into the light, and back into the world he had cursed just about everyday of his life.

Pops embraced the gumball machine, squeezing him as hard as he could. "Benson, are you alright?" he asked out of worry.

Benson wasn't even sure. His body still felt a little numb from the panic, and his cogs were still ticking away like mad. More so, he was trying to figure out how it was that it only took him three or four seconds to leave the darkness, when it took him a few minutes to fall into it. It could have been a trick from his panic attack, but he wasn't sure. What mattered was that he was back and mostly safe. So overall…

"I'm okay," he answered, still shaken up. "But Skips…?"

"Where is he!" Maellard asked from behind his son. "Skips jumped down to save your worthless tin butt. Shouldn't he have come back with you?"

Benson didn't answer him. He looked back down into the hole, growing more of a concern for the yeti than himself. Benson was safe for the time being, but Skips was still down there. The gumball machine hoped that the yeti was strong enough to handle his own with that monster, whatever it was. He had seen Skips fight worse, so he wasn't too worried. Still, it was total darkness down there, and that put Skips at the same disadvantage Benson had prior. The monster was sure to take the upper hand in that situation.

A few low grumbles came from the hole again as the sound of quick footsteps and laughter were heard underneath. Those laughs were too high pitched and maniacal to be Skips. Benson's worry grew.

And then suddenly, Skips zoomed out of the hole, darkened elongated hands pinning him to the ceiling, causing it to crack and make the foundation of the house shake. Benson and the others screamed out to Skips as they watched him helplessly be subdued.

"Stay back," he said to them calmly. He looked down into the hole, feeling that something else was coming.

A large dark entity slowly shifted out of the nothingness. It had no real physical form, mostly made up of a black ooze with elongated hands protruding out all over it. It dripped heavily into the void beneath and floated up to Skips. Its very presence sent a terrible chill into all the men standing by the hole. Skips simply looked down at it with unflinching resolve. The creature rewarded Skips bravely by dragging him all over the ceiling and repeatedly bashing him against the concrete of it. Eventually it got bored of this and flung him against the wall, grabbing him by the leg right after, and throwing him right out of the basement through the door leading outside.

The wood splintered everywhere as the yeti flew a few feet in the air, only to hit the grassy floor of the park lawn and roll. When his body eventually stopped tumbling, he sat up and spit out the grass and dirt his mouth had accidentally inhaled.

Benson, Pops, and Maellard followed after him into the park. They came to him and looked to make sure he was alright. Save for a couple of scrapes and cuts, the yeti seemed to be mostly unharmed. He rubbed his hand at an open wound on his shoulder, but paid no real attention to it, letting the tiny droplets of blood trickle down his arm.

"Suuuuuuun liiiiiiiight…" the dark entity moaned as it crawled out of the basement and out into the afternoon sun. It tried floating into the air for a short while, but came right back down with a thud on the grass. Its hands tapped impatiently at the ground, and it groaned while it tried to do something.

The monster shook and rattled and puffed out some black smoke. It rolled along the ground and let out a shriek as it bubbled up and gasped. A wide eye opened itself onto the creature after its dance and it stared vacantly at the group in front of it.

"Much better," the monster said coherently. "So nice to be free again, you know… after you threw me in there without so much as a reason why!" His eye shot to the group.

Maellard fell to the ground. That horrible eye was staring them down with every intent to end their lives. He wondered why his limo had to be parked out front. Why couldn't it have been parked out back this one time?

"I have been waiting a looooooooooong time to see you again, my old friend," it laughed as it slowly crawled its way toward them. "You have no idea what I'm going to do to you once I get my hands around you. And believe you and me, it's gonna be fun fun fun…" It let out another little chuckle and it pulled itself toward the group of park workers. As it pulled closer to them, hundreds of smaller eyes opened themselves up all over its body. Each one was different from the other: some pale and milky, some blood shot and sickly, others human in design, some feline or animalistic, and some that didn't seem like they belonged on the planet.

Skips jumped in front of the group, getting reading to hold his ground and protect them. Maellard made sure his whole body was behind the yeti. He didn't want that thing getting anywhere close to him, especially after it tried to snatch him and drag him down a few minutes before hand.

The monster eyed Skips and continued with his laugh. It extended one of its arms and took the yeti up into the air by the throat. The rest of the arms came at him extending their nails and plunging them deep within his abdomen, chest, and neck. They stabbed him all at the same time and held him there. Skips gritted his teeth and yelped in pain.

"So simple," the dark creature laughed. It removed the nails from the behemoth and let the creature plummet to the ground, falling directly on his face. The monster laughed as he hit the floor. "Not much of a fight, huh?"

Skips coughed heavily, spitting up some blood onto the green landscape, and picked himself up from the ground. His once flawlessly bright pelt had begun to be stained with his own crimson thanks in part to a giggling monster rolling happily across the lawn. Skips glared down the creature with disdain and hate. He needed this thing subdued as soon as possible. He didn't want anyone else to get hurt because of this ransack mishmash of darkness and jazz fingers.

The monster ceased its laughter when it noticed the protector picking itself back up. "You want so more then? I'm happy to oblige!"

Another hand zoomed across the yard, extending its fingers. It lodged itself inside of Skips' belly, twisting the nails and causing a sharp pain to resonate around the yeti. But Skips readied himself this time, and grabbed the creature's wrist as it hit him. He shook the things wrist playfully, and twisted it in a flash, snapping the bone inside of it. The monster yelled out in contempt, and looked angrily to Skips.

"God damn it, that hurt!" it yelled. It readied another hand, this time aimed at the man's eyes. He steadied his aim, and made a sound that was usually reserved for someone clicking their tongues. "Now hold still while I free you of your sight," it mumbled as it got ready.

But its vision and aim were messed up as Benson flew into its sight, and rammed the still extended arm that Skips was holding steady. Another loud crack sounded throughout the area as the monster's arm bended into a direction that looked as though it shouldn't be bent. It screamed again as the pain vibrated across his arm and up to its body.

In its moment of incapacitation, Skips saw the opportunity and twisted the creatures wrist again, tearing its flesh, and bringing the hand down, snapping the bone and hand itself completely off. He then pulled the knife like nails out of his body and rushed toward the monster at full speed, still caring its twitching appendage. He passed Benson who gave him a quick smirk, knowing that Skips was going to fix this problem just fine.

"Naaaahhhh!" the creature screamed in its moment of weakness. "You candy covered twat!"

Another hand thrust itself out, moving as fast as it could. The hand moved so fast, that Skips wasn't able to see where exactly it was going. He assumed as much that it was heading for him, seeing that the last two dozen or so didn't mind attacking him. But he was gravely mistaken when the hand shot past him completely. He turned around and saw the target the monster was aiming for.

Benson only had a split second to react when he saw the monster's arm pass right by Skips. The thing was going right for the gumball machine, and Benson knew if he stayed there any longer, he was done. He put one foot right in front him to dash away... and felt the hand smash right into his head. Everything went slow and blurry for a moment as his brain tried to process what was happening. He thought he would have more time to get out of the way. How did it get there so quickly? He felt his freshly cleaned and rebuffed glass break and crack. The hand, however, could not completely break through, and slid right off of him. It was just enough damage though to bring the machine down.

Benson fell to the ground and began to twitch and convulse in... well... he wasn't sure exactly what he was in a spasm for. Something was wrong. He couldn't speak, his eye sight kept focusing in and out from a blur to darkness to brightness, his sense of smell was growing crazy, from the scent of the growing grass beneath him, to the putrid ooze that flowed out of the creature some feet away. Something was certainly wrong with his body. But what was that clinking sound that he kept on hearing? With all of his strength he pulls his hand up to his head and feels around. Right on the very first spot he feels for, he feels a small, though noticeable hole in him. A piece of glass had fallen out of his head and into his gumballs: essentially his brains. It shook and danced around in his head, causing more mess to his body and functions.

Skips turned around for a moment to see the damage the monster has caused to his boss. Pops had already started running over to him to make sure his worker was alright, while Maellard stayed back with a look of shear fright all over his face. When Skips saw the twitching gumball machine on the ground, it was all he needed to see. He picked up his speed and approached the still living blackened creature, renewed with a blazing fire inside his heart and a streak of hate that surged all the way down his spine.

Sensing the danger it was in, the monster sent as many of his hands out at Skips as it could, and a few of them did manage to hit. But Skips was too stubborn and wasn't set to allow a few stab wounds to stop him. So he ran forward, up to the creature, and brought the creatures severed hand up above his head.

"You deserve this!" Skips yelled.

"YOU THINK SO, HUH!" it screamed. "YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW!"

The yeti simply scoffed at him and brought the hand down.

The blow went through, and the sharp nails drove themselves deep into the monster's eyes. Skips backed away, taking the the creatures weapons out of his body. The darkness screamed as loud as it could, completely blinded.

"But, but..." the monster screamed, "I WASN'T FINISHED YET!"

Its body began to expand and grow. It a matter of moments, it was virtually three times its normal size and getting larger. It brought all of its arms back into itself and tried to force itself back down to its original size. But it was still growing more and more. Soon it was as big as the house.

Skips looked over to the people he was protecting and skipped over to them. He motioned for Maellard to join them. At first the lollipop man shook his head and denied Skips the pleasure of his company. But when the monster began to crack and shake, he obliged the yeti and joined him as well as his son and the ill Benson. Skips outstretched his arms, and brought them over everyone.

"Here it comes!" he yelled.

And just like that, the monster popped liked a pimple. Dark liquid exploded all around the park and flooded the entire complex in a matter of seconds. The group was swept away in a current of dark water. Skips made sure to hold on to the three of them. He didn't want any of them to be separated or hurt, though it seemed a little late for that now.

Eventually, they came to a halt at some point around the park. Pops and Skips looked up first to survey the area. The lollipop man desperately hoped his father was knocked out from the water blast because he certainly wouldn't like this. Sadly though, Maellard was well aware of the situation as he lay on the ground, wet with black drippings, and eyes in shock with what he saw.

The park was ruined. The blackness had not only stained the grass and the trees with a dark hue, but a distinctive black ooze permeated the area. Several park patrons around the place were busy tearing the stuff off, and slapping it on the ground. Luckily, the ooze seemed to be quickly drying up, though the black water and damage to the park were still very much there. Maellard slowly stood up and took in a deep breath, trying to clear the panic out of his system. He looked to Benson, who was still in random convulsions, while Skips looked over him: the yeti's body was covered in blackness, blood, and cuts. It surprised Maellard how much resolve Skips had.

Skips looked into the gumball machine's head and now saw some black water sloshing around inside along with the glass. Benson reached up to Skips and grabbed his shoulders. He had a look of fear in his eyes, asking a certain question to a man who didn't have the answer. Skips looked to Maellard with worried eyes.

"This isn't good."

Off in the distance, Mordecai and Rigby stepped out of the house after a nice break of video games. They had completed their jobs like Benson had instructed them, and decided to take the rest of the day off, or at least until Benson got home from getting his head fixed. They didn't hear a thing that had happened downstairs save for the foundation shaking, but they certainly heard some rumblings from outside. The two got up from the couch, and stepped out onto the porch. The blue jay and the raccoon's mouth went slack as they saw the damage in front of them.

"Dude," Mordecai gawked.

"Dude," Rigby gawked as well.

For a few seconds, they simply stared at the mess in front of them before either of them finally said the thing that was on their minds.

"I'm not cleaning this up."

* * *

><p>The first thing Skips did with Benson was bring him right back to the house, bring him into the kitchen, and bring his head over the sink. He placed a stopper there to keep the black liquid from escaping into the plumbing, and held his fingers against Benson's broken hole in his head, letting the liquid seep out through the seems. This ensured that his gumballs would remain inside for the time being, at least until Benson could get himself repaired or get a new head.<p>

The filthy substance trickled out of Benson slowly – the gumball machine twitching and writhing in pain as it happened. He grabbed a hold of the counter, and held on as tight as he could to it. The only thing better that he wished he had was a bullet to bite down on. Benson couldn't begin to describe the strange and bizarre pain that was happening in his head. Little thoughts he thought he had forgotten resurfaced, his body moved and convulsed on its own, and his head felt like it was about to explode at any moment. The pain itself could only be compared to getting broadsided by a car and having a combination of a concussion and glass in your head, which sadly for Benson, he had both.

Skips shook Benson's head slightly to get the rest of the blackness out of him, and pulled him up from the sink. He took another look inside and tried to track down that stray piece of glass inside of him. "Pops," the yeti began, looking to the gentleman and his father, "get me some pliers."

Pops nodded and ran off in a hurry to find a pair of needle nose pliers. He passed Mordecai and Rigby who were busy standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking on with interest. The two exchanged little discussions to one another, and continued to look onward.

"Sh-sh-shouldn't you t-t-t-t-two be working-g-g-g-g-g-g?" Benson stuttered out in a gasp.

The two young men looked at one another, and then back to Benson. "We're just, uh… worried about you Benson," Mordecai said with a strange sense of concern in his voice.

Rigby nodded along, but added nothing to that.

Benson's eye twitched for a moment before his head began to shake painfully. "You s-s-s-s-slackers… ne-e-e-e-e-e-ed to go out and d-d-d-d-d-d-do something r-r-r-r-r-r-right now."

"But Benson-"

"RIGHT NOW!" Benson screamed the loudest he ever had before. It caused the room to echo, and even forced Maellard to close his eyes and grit his teeth by the shear volume of it. Benson felt the repercussions of it though in his throat which let loose a storm of pain. He instinctively held his throat and tumbled to his knees. For a moment he wandered what he possibly could have done in a former life to deserve such cruel treatment. His vision was getting blurry, and he was growing afraid of blacking out and never waking up. When he looked up at the bird and mammal combo, they were gone.

"Sorry," he coughed out. "I can't really c-c-c-c-c-control what I'm s-s-s-s-s-saying right now."

Maellard scowled at him and folded his arms. "That doesn't give you the right to mistreat your workers like that," he said with malice. Even after nearly getting killed, Maellard was still Maellard. There certainly was a sense of worry for his troubled worker, but at the moment he was more afraid of what the park patrons were going to say after being drench in the mystery substance. Speaking of which…

"You might want to go shower," the yeti quietly announced.

Maellard gave him a curious look. True, he was still wet from the black stuff, but it didn't seem too detrimental to his health.

That all changed though when Skips pulled out a book of matches from his jeans, ignited one of them, and chucked it into the sink. The water burst into an ocean of flames, spirits of laughter and fear sounding off in the smoke that flowed out of it. Within a few seconds, it had completely dissipated, leaving the sink nice and clean. Skips shook his head upon watching the fire. Maellard, however, stood there with his mouth open. He quickly turned and escaped the room, heading upstairs to the bathroom for a quick spritz of water. As he made his exit, the only thing he could think of was how the park patrons were going to react when they found out they were now flammable.

As Skips awaited Pops return, he picked up Benson from the floor, and slowly filled his head up with water – about halfway up. He let Benson stand there over the sink once again, while the water deluded whatever was left of the black liquid.

This sensation wasn't new to Benson. He had had his head cleaned like this before after all. He could best describe it as being underwater without having to worry about an oxygen supply. It was almost soothing and relaxing, though a little bizarre as he still had a bit of twitching from having his head washed out. It made him woozy. He really wanted to fall asleep like that if he could. However, he needed to keep the inside of his head dry otherwise his gumballs might be damaged. Submerging them underwater for a few seconds is fine, but not for an extended period of time though.

The water was quickly emptied out of him almost as soon as it had got in. Skips looked down at the slightly discolored water and threw another match into it. No ignition, so he assumed that Benson was safe for the time being. The only thing he and everyone else needed was a shower… and to have a chunk of glass pulled out of him. He didn't worry too much about Maellard using the water works and letting the gunk go down the drain. He didn't think it was going to be too harmful anyways.

The hulking figure walked the gumball machine over to the kitchen table and gently sat him down, helping him every step of the way. It was a truly strange sight to watch his coworker shake so violently, all of which was completely involuntary.

Pops returned a minute afterward with a pair of pliers he had found in Mordecai and Rigby's room. They all wanted to know what they were doing with them, but decided against an investigation until they could fix Benson up.

Skips tilted the gumball machine's head slowly, and dipped the pliers into his head, doing his very best not to have the gumballs hit the foreign object inside of him. Benson was already going crazy as it was, he didn't need the extra damage. The yeti was careful to take the glass out, barely causing any damage on the exit. The glass was then discarded and thrown away. Skips took another look inside just in case there might have been more.

"Trust me Skips," Benson said as his body began to readjust itself, "if there were more in there, I'd probably know."

The yeti shrugged, knowing that Benson would know better than anyone else, and dropped the pliers on the table. Then, with Pops help, placed a cotton ball in the opening of Benson's head, and taped it there on the outside. A square bandage was placed over it, giving it more protection.

"That should work until we can get you to the doctor," Skips said with some relief.

Pops looked on with some feeling of little satisfaction for helping Skips. "It certainly is handy work we did there, Skips!" Pops was giddy to see the yeti nod along. "I suppose I should go call the park doctor and see if he can squeeze you in for an appointment, Benson," he added as he walked over to the phone hanging on the wall.

"Martin's number is speed dial 4, Pops," Benson groaned.

The sound of a dial tone and several numbers speedily being dialed echoed out of the receiver. Benson made sure to add "turn down phone volume" to the list of things that needed to be done around the house. Only a minute after recovering and he was already thinking about going back to work.

Pops face lit up as someone answered the other end of the line. "Yes Ma'am," Pops said happily, "I'd like to speak with Dr. Ploddevize. It's Pops Maellard." The line went silent again as Pops awaited for an answer.

As they waited, Skips tried to engage in some idle chit chat with his coworker. He thought it might be for the best to try and get Benson to open a little, and maybe take his mind off of things.

"Does it still hurt?"

"What do you think?" Benson snapped at him.

That shut Skips up real quick. It didn't help take Benson's mind off of things either. He should have known better than to ask such a stupid question like that. He was just concerned for his coworker. The two sat there in silence while Pops discussed this and that with the doctor. Benson was in too fowl a mood to talk. Skips still felt like saying something though. He did feel a little bad with how things went.

"Eh, sorry about your head, Benson."

"Why are you apologizing?" the wounded man sighed.

"Seemed like the right thing to say," Skips replied, scratching the back of his head. "Just thought you might like to hear it."

"Yeah well… it wasn't your fault. I don't think this was anyone's fault. I don't think any of us knew what was underneath the house. Maybe except Maellard." Benson leaned his head back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I mean, it did go after Maellard for some reason. And he was pretty frightened of it."

"We all were," the yeti corrected him.

"Even you?"

"Not really."

"Of course not," Benson chuckled. "I mean, you probably knew everything about that thing before it even came out of the floor. Heck, you and I were both blind when we were down there, and you probably still knew more about it then me."

Skips shook his head. "I knew something, Benson. I knew enough on how to subdue it, but not really a lot of it in general."

"Of course you do," Benson continued. "You know everything. I guess that's a perk for being alive for hundreds of thousands of years, huh."

"I guess so," Skips said looking down at the table top.

A mood of regret and guilt filled the silence between the two of them after that. Benson could feel Skips' mood grow gloomy. It was another strange sight to behold seeing someone like Skips feel so down about something.

The issue of Skips' immortality rarely came up. It was a gift bestowed to him by the Gods of Youth, though he never liked talking about it. The most he ever said about it was that it gave him knowledge beyond anyone's years, seeing that he had lived for such a long time. Any other discussion after that usually degraded into Skips falling into a depression or tizzy of some sort, hence why barely anyone in the staff ever brought it up. They knew he was immortal and just dropped it with that. It was a part of who Skips was, and they accepted that about him.

"Sorry," Benson apologized. "I didn't mean to bring it up."

"It's alright," Skips sighed, "water under the bridge."

Benson nodded to him, accepting that the subject had ended on that. "Still," he continued, "what was that thing?"

Skips looked at him with serious eyes and said, "bad news."

"What do you think it wanted with Maellard?"

"I don't know," Skips answered. "We should probably ask him that when he gets out of the shower."

"I think he'll probably be more worried about the park than us asking questions," Benson said to his yeti coworker. Skips nodded in agreement, and the two were once again greeted with silence.

"Why thank you!" Pops jollied over the phone. "I will be sure to alert him of that. Have a wonderful day, good doctor." The line went dead, and Pops hung up the phone.

Benson looked over at the big headed man, hoping for good news. "So what did he say?"

Pops looked like he could barely contain his excitement. "He said that if you keep breaking your head like this, he'll be able to not only pay off his medical school bills, but also take a lovely trip to the Bahamas with some spare change left over to hire a lady of the night for three whole days." The man then exploded into laughter, as if the very terribly worded joke was funny.

Benson groaned unhappily, knowing that the park doctor would say something like that. "Pops, what did he say about an appointment for me?"

"Oh that," the gentleman said, cooling his laughter. "He said if you could come in within the hour he'll get you patched up and ready for another day of knuckle dragging work in the park. Such a funny man that Dr. Ploddevize is."

"Yeah," Benson groaned sarcastically, "the funniest." He took a look out the window at the destruction the park had gone through once again. He pondered as to what Maellard was going to do to fix everything and how this would affect the work in general.

He didn't worry about it much after that though. Status quo would resume in a week by Monday like it usually did.

**Panic Attack** – _Unkle_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Well that was a fun little chapter to write. I always found the action chapters to be a rather difficult exercise, but always the most fun to write because you can just let your inner action guru come out. Imagination is the name of the game when it comes to things like that. True, it probably wasn't as action packed as I would have liked it, but I was proud of how it came out either way.

As for the chapter itself, I just enjoyed writing reactions and writing the monster in general. Monsters for this show in particular are always a joy to write because you can give them such personality(see Iacedrom or the Walls-to-Walls zombies from Triangles). I'd like to think that when the chapters involving monsters are shown, they take the center stage more than the characters. I mean, isn't that what a lot of the RS episodes go into the end? What super natural element will we have this week?

Thankfully, this is the last of what I call the introductory chapters. We're gonna start getting into the main stories now, and I hope the arcs are entertaining for all of my readers.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	5. Broken Glass

**Chapter Five**

**Broken Glass**

Another day another dollar, Margaret thought to herself as she prepared another piping hot cup of coffee for a customer. Lunch was always the most hectic time of the day during the week. People coming in and out with their priorities set on feeding their gullets and satisfying their on going caffeine addictions, some more impatient than others to try and get their food and get out the door. She was used to having to deal with people like that on a daily basis. It was something that all hires to the Coffee Shop had to deal with at one time or another. Dealing with crowds was something that had to be dealt with on your own; it was a teaching exercise to weed out any weak new hires.

Margaret frowned anxiously as she looked to the back room with the door open slightly a skewed just enough to see inside. Eileen was in the middle of an interview with a potential new hire, and Margaret wasn't sure if the girl was cut out for it. She could see their boss pacing back and forth in the same room too, just as unsure as she was. But it wasn't the red robin's place to pick and choose who would be the new hire. No doubt whoever it was, they were probably going to get promoted before she would. She still seethed slightly thinking that Eileen was promoted to assistant manager before her, and Margaret had a year more experience than her. She didn't blame the mole, but her boss, who had a very obvious problem with Margaret. Still, Michelle was a thousand times better than her old manager, she thought. At least Margaret didn't have to worry about her tail feathers getting pitched every hour.

The entrance to the shop chimed, and she put her slight anger to the side in favor of actually doing her job. Maybe if she worked doubly hard she could at least get a raise to better pay for her tuition.

She quickly smiled and peered over to the door. "Hi, how are... hey you!"

Benson ceased his walk down the stairs when the sweet girl's voice caught his attention. She waved to him, actually excited to see his face. Benson gave her a half smile and returned the greeting. But Margaret cut her excitement short when she noticed the glass on his head was tinted with a slight shade of blue. Benson sighed when he realized what she was looking at and descended the stairs.

"You're blue," was the first thing that came out of her mouth.

"You noticed," Benson replied with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The girl picked up on it almost immediately. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it, honest."

Benson sighed again and approached the counter. "Don't worry about it," he said looking at the tasty treats behind the glass protector. "You should hear Mordecai and Rigby though: They won't shut up about it."

"I would think not," she added, still looking at the blue of his glass. "Is it a new look you're going for?"

"Not at all – it's actually a new head they fitted me with. The glass isn't really blue. They just put a protective film on it for the time being until the resin inside of the glass actually dries. It's a three layer glass head. Maellard didn't want my head breaking apart again so he forked over the extra $3200 to get me this one. It takes two weeks for the resin inside to dry and merge with the other two pieces of glass."

Margaret leaned against the counter and continued to smile at him. "That was about the last time you saw me wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way to the doctor's right now to get this stupid thing taken off," he said to her, still debating on what he should get something to eat, if anything at all. "You have no idea how relieved I'll be once it's off."

Margaret chuckled a little, before her face turned more worrisome. "I heard from Mordecai and Rigby about the stuff that happened in the park," she said right out of the blue. "And I saw your boss talking about it on the news. Sorry to hear about all that, Benson."

He was eying the croissants when he heard her apologize. "You know," he began, "I've been getting apologies from everyone I know since I was the only one reported with an injury. I don't see why you or anyone else should be apologizing for something that none of us knew was going to happen. It's kind of annoying."

Margaret was taken a back from this sudden annoyed outburst. She regretted saying anything at all.

"I swear," he continued, "you people don't even know me, and you're giving me all this fake sympathy. It really is grating on my nerves." He looked up at Margaret and saw the guilt in her eyes, and he began to feel bad for what he said. "Sorry. I've just had a rough couple of weeks cause of this thing." He tapped on the blue on his glass and tried to give her a fake grin.

Margaret took the apology in and let it help recover the smile on her face. "Well it's coming off today at least. And I think it kind of adds a kind of calmer image to you. Makes you look more easy going and laid back."

"All I see is blue," Benson countered. "Even bright red Miss Margaret is coming up as a kind of disgusting purple."

"Purple? Ick!" she said sticking out her tongue before giggling a bit in hopes it would break the ice. It seemed to do the trick as Benson's façade of a smile shifted to a legitimate one. But where were her manners? She was still at work, and Benson was a customer in front of her. "I'm sure you came in here for something. What can I get you?"

Benson knew exactly what he wanted, and Margaret was the only one who could make it. "You remember that drink you made for me a few weeks ago?" Benson was happy to see her nod as she remembered. "Well, I only got a few sips out of it before Maellard umm... took it away. So I was wondering if you could make it again. I'll pay for it this time."

"Oh sure!" she said with a grin. "Give me a couple of minutes and I'll have it out for you!" She proceeded to begin her rituals around the back counter, grabbing cups, brewing coffee, and selecting the right ingredients.

Benson almost admired the way she did everything with such precision and clock work. He wished that she could have been working at the park, but that wasn't his decision to make. Besides, who know what kind of crazy antics the park would get to if she joined up with Mordecai and Rigby. He shuddered at the idea.

As he continued to watch her, she passed by the back room, and that's when he saw Eileen and a pacing female electric eel, listening in to another girl on the chair opposite of the small coffee shop worker. Eileen, the small mole with a clipboard in hand and sitting on the fold out chair with her legs dangling off the edge, noticed the gumball machine and gave him a small wave. He waved back. The electric eel didn't notice him, instead asking a new question to the girl sitting on the other chair. Benson didn't catch much of a glimpse of the potential new hire, save for her long blonde hair and skinny frame. He mentally wished her the best of luck. She'd need it to work at this place.

This place...

This place...

This place...

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"You have to be crazy to work in this place!" Benson said as he looked out into the park. It had already been two days since he started and he already regretted his decision to take the job.

The park grounds were an absolute mess: litter strewn about everywhere, weeds and overgrown grass protruding high, the fountain looked like it hadn't been cleaned out in ages, the snack bar was wrecked after being heavily tagged and robbed on several occasions, and patronage was at an all time low. Benson wasn't exactly sure how three people could fix this mess, let alone when the three were an emotional crippled gumball machine, a rather giddy and childlike in mentality elderly man, and a large hulking yeti that seemed to keep to himself for the most part.

"It doesn't look too bad," Skips said, observing the same pile of garbage in front of him. "I've dealt with a lot worse, believe me."

"Good for you," Benson shrugged as he looked into his litter bag. "I haven't. This is probably the most trash I've ever seen in my life."

Skips returned the same shrug back to him and began to skip around as his name sake suggested, collecting the pieces of garbage with his stick and nail. "Try not to think about it then. Otherwise, it'll just make the chore that much more boring."

Benson couldn't argue with that. It seemed pretty sound. It didn't stop it from coming across his mind every now and then though. He absolutely hated what he was doing, but knew that a job was a job, and a paycheck was a paycheck, and that if he didn't have a paycheck, he wouldn't eat.

But it wasn't like he was mad about the whole layout of everything. He was happy to find out that Pops and Maellard would gladly pay for both he and Skips room and board, and that they would find a new home in the park's recreational house. This served as much better living arrangements than staying in the $400 a month single bedroom apartment he could barely afford. And after the unfortunately accident with his previous roommate, he knew he couldn't pay for everything alone for too long.

He grew sad as he thought about his friend and the unfortunate circumstances around his death. Benson was stilled scared from the event, and it was hard for him to even look at a game of stick hockey, let alone play it. He hoped that his friend was happy at least, wherever he was.

The young gumball machine threw a quick glance to Skips a few feet away. He was still trying to figure him out. Though they had only known each for about 48 hours, Benson seemed to get the gist of who he was. Skips seemed to be a pretty quiet, though knowledgeable individual. The previous night he had gone off on some tangent about ancient Mayan civilizations and the rituals they performed. Pops found it to be utterly fascinating, and while Benson didn't much care for the history lecture, he found some interest in it. Skips must have been a college professor at one time or another simply for the sheer amount of knowledge he held. He even had a compendium of eldritch abominations in his head. He spent a good chunk of the night listing off the ones that might attack the park. It was useful information considering that the news had reported a 7% increase in eldritch activity. Both Pops and Benson appreciated the info.

Another thing about the yeti was that he was so kind. While the average onlooker might be shied or outright scared away from him at first, when they learn about who he is, he's a generally nice guy. Benson was actually surprised to see him crack a smile when they told him how much they appreciated the information given to them about the abominations. He didn't mind cleaning up around the, at the time, nearly empty house. He even went as far as to create a make shift floor table for the three to eat at until they could get more furniture for the place. He enjoyed the compliments. The more Benson and Pops told him how amazing it was that he knew and did so much, the wider his smile got. He never blushed, but Benson could tell he was enjoying himself. And Benson had originally thought that the three of them might not get along very well.

Probably the ultimate show of Skips' character was how he decided to give the only other bed in the house to Benson. Upstairs there was a small room with an empty closet. Obviously a bedroom, considering there was a small twin sized bed in the corner of it. It wasn't anything impressive, but it was a room to sleep in nonetheless. Pops even sprung for a dresser drawer later on for Benson's slowly growing collection of shirts.

As for Skips: he slept on the floor. Benson had trouble sleeping because of it. It really wasn't fair to have someone as kind as him sleep on the floor with no blankets or pillows. Skips just told him that he was used to it, and that only made Benson feel worse. Who knows what kind of life the yeti had lived. Benson just wondered if he was maybe homeless, or had no money, or had lived a tough life, or even all of thee above. The gumball machine sighed and knew he didn't have a right to complain. He only came out of a massive breakup with his girlfriend and had been emotionally twisted by the death of his friend. Skips though probably lived a long and hectic life. He had probably seen turmoil and pain more than Benson ever could.

"Hey Benson," the yeti said, snapping Benson back to the park, "you alright?"

"What?" Benson huffed. He shook his head out of memories of the previous night and tried to return to work. "Yeah… yeah I'm fine. Just didn't sleep well last night."

"Seems like you had something else on your mind," Skips observed.

"You could tell, huh?" Benson sighed. He shook it off though, grinning and looking into his bag. Not even half way full. Skips' bag seemed almost to the brim. Benson needed to step his game up or else he was going to go on the cutting board. He quickly slammed his nail down onto a couple of pieces of trash and brought them to his bag.

"What were you thinking about?" Skips asked as he continued to clean the area around him.

"You," Benson said right out.

Skips stopped his chore and looked over at Benson with a sense of interest. "Why were you thinking about me?"

"I don't know," the machine remarked. "Just thinking about what kind of person you are, I guess."

"And what kind of person am I?" Skips asked as he leaned onto his stick. He had a small grin on him, suggesting how surprisingly engrossed he was in this impromptu conversation.

"I don't know," Benson repeated. "A nice person I guess? A lot nicer than me."

"Hey you seem like a nice guy."

Benson smirked and let an airy laugh escape his nose. "Just wait," he said as he stuck more garbage into his bad, "just wait."

The yeti looked down at the ground in thought, and then back up to the gumball machine. "Why the interest in me though? Got a crush or something?"

Benson ceased his work and gave the yeti a peering expression, complete with one eyebrow cocked and the other slanted. Skips let out a small chuckle of his own as he watched the confused look on his coworkers face.

"It's not like it's a bad thing if you did," he commented. "I've had a lot of boyfriends before, you know. Maybe you'll even get lucky."

"Well for your information," Benson snapped, "I've had a girlfriend, with an emphasis on the lady parts, so thanks, but no thanks." He kicked himself when he realized just how insulting to Skips that must of sounded. Benson didn't even have a preference, so why did he have to go and say something stupid like that?

Skips chuckled again as he listened, sensing the uncomfortable feelings the gumball machine had caused on himself. "Well that's alright. I've had a lot of girlfriends too – lot of wives and husbands, and kids… and…" He cut himself short. Suddenly, the once quiet and curious smile that he had was now gone, replaced with a combination of anger, regret, and sorrow.

At first, Benson thought he was only playing around. But when he saw that expression on the yeti's face, he knew that there was nothing but truth in there. How old was this guy, anyways?

"Hey!" Benson poked at him. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Skips answered immediately. "I guess I didn't sleep well either."

"Seems like you had something else on your mind," Benson observed, trying to mimic the yeti and bring some light hearted cheer back into the conversation.

Skips noticed his tone change to a slightly more playful one, and gave him a false smile. "I guess I do."

Benson laughed a little and let out a sigh of relief. "Sorry about that lady parts comment. I don't know why I even said that. I guess I was just worried you... uh... wouldn't like me if you knew I liked both."

The yeti huffed a laugh and shrugged. "So that's the case, huh? Well, whatever floats your boat Benson. Though," he stopped looking at the gumball machine's body, "since your body isn't technically living or organic, would it even count as...?"

Benson peered a quizzical expression at him.

"Never mind," Skips replied. "I'm just trying to figure you out is all. I've never talked to a lot of machines before."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better," Benson started, "I've never talked to a lot of yeti's either."

They both laughed and said nothing after that. They returned to their chores and refused to pry into the others business anymore. Neither of them were in a particularly great mood, but they were getting better as the day progressed. They just turned their emotions off for the rest of the day and continued to work. At some point during the day, they found themselves about a quarter of the way done with the park and ready for a break.

Pops was already on the scene with cold beverages for the two.

"I would have rather had something to eat," Benson said as he looked into the milky gray substance with ice in it. He wasn't sure what he was looking at. All he knew is that it was some sort of drink to give him and Skips' energy.

The yeti nodded with him, and took a drink of the substance. He shrugged off the taste, but enjoyed it overall.

"You'll have to forgive me," Pops replied to Benson. "I had a full assortment of sandwiches ordered from the deli and all so we could have a picnic, but it appears that they won't be ready until supper."

Benson and Skips looked at each other, and then back to Pops.

"Hey, we're not mad, Pops," Benson said to him.

"We can just eat after work," Skips added.

"Can we still have a picnic?" Pops asked through his sadness.

"Of course we can!" Skips answered him with a grin.

"It's a nice day, so why not?" Benson added with Skips.

This caused the elderly gentleman to laugh childishly again, and grow excited for the end of the day.

Both Benson and Skips' stomachs grumbled, but they knew they could suffer through it.

Benson groaned at the thought of having to live without food for another six hours or so. At least he had something to drink. He took a sip of it, and was shocked by the smooth texture of it. It definitely was some sort of chai iced tea. "This is really good," he said to Pops.

The man beamed at him and said it was his own recipe.

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"Here you go!" Margaret announced as she sat the coffee cup onto the counter.

This snapped Benson back into reality from the recesses of his thoughts. Old memories were hard not to think about. However, he needed to live in the now if he was ever going to get through his daily life.

He took the cup and gave it a quick drink, remembering the light sweetness and slight coffee flavor to it. He looked up at Margaret who was giggling at his enjoyment.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked her, pulling out his wallet.

She brought her hands up and winked at him. "No charge again. You've had a pretty rough couple of weeks. I think I can let you off the hook this one last time."

Benson opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off by her once again.

"And don't think this is out of pity either," she commented on the matter. "I'm giving it to you for free because you're stressed out, and I like you and everyone else from the park."

Benson really wanted to say something on the matter, but he knew that it would be a losing battle in the end. It seemed like a lot of his conversations lately had ended in that exact same manner. "Alright," Benson relented, "I know I can't win."

"That's right," Margaret said with another wink.

"Thanks. I gotta get going to the doctor."

Margaret nodded to him, and gave him another smile. "Try to come in more often. I like the company, especially on days like this when I'm busy pulling my feathers out."

"Welcome to my world," Benson said in a snarky tone. Margaret laughed at him and waved goodbye to him, just in time for the next customer to ask about their coffee and goodies.

"Good luck on the interviews!" Benson yelled.

"What?" Margaret pondered. She could have slapped herself when she realized what he meant. "Oh yeah, thanks!"

And he was out the door right after that.

* * *

><p>The hammer came right down onto Benson's head, slamming into the glass, and bouncing off without a care in the world. Benson's dome shook and rambled as a pain swept across his head. He grabbed the glass around his head and held it still, doing his best to cease the terrible shaking of all of his gumballs. When it had stopped vibrating from all the impact, he looked over at his doctor and turned a bright shade of crimson.<p>

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!" he screamed at the man in the white coat.

The human male smiled contently and threw the hammer to the side. He then grabbed his clipboard and wrote the results of the test down on it.

"Those glass makers certainly do good work," Dr. Martin Ploddevize said as he clicked his pen closed. "Not a single dent or crack. I'd say your boss really did want the best for you. Wish I had a boss that nice." He then looked out the open door of the room, across the hall to another room with an open door. Another doctor was busy with a child patient in it. Martin smirked and opened his mouth, raising his voice with every word that came out. "Isn't that right, Howard!"

The other man simply got up from his seat, approached the door, and closed it without even looking across the hall.

"God, I love him," the doctor commented to the gumball machine. "If we were both lesbians I'd marry him."

Benson wasn't listening, or at least he tried his best not to. He just wanted to pay the bill and get out. Other than the hammer to his head, the visit had gone off without so much as a hitch. For the most part, Martin had kept his clever little comments to himself, Benson was able to get the blue film off him, he was able to finish his drink, and things were generally starting to look up for the better.

"So," Dr. Ploddevize began, "how's your head?"

Benson frowned and stared daggers at him. "You just attacked it with a hammer. YOU TELL ME!"

The doctor continued to smirk and briefly let a laugh echo in his throat. "Overall, your head is looking pretty good now. If I can't break it, then I don't know who in the hell could. But I didn't mean physically, Benson. I was inferring on how you were doing emotionally?"

Benson groaned. He didn't want to get into this today with his physician/therapist. "I really don't feel like talking about it to you."

"Oh quit being a wet blanket," the doctor snipped. "It's just therapy. I think it might do you some good. You're the only one from the park who hasn't had at least once session with me, you know."

Benson laughed at Martin with that little statement. "After the things they tell me about you? Oh no… I think I'd rather suffer a fate worse than death."

"From what Maellard and the news told me, you actually came pretty close to that." Martin muttered to himself. "And why is it that everyone always says that about my therapy? I've been awarded several awards for my therapy styles, ya know."

The gumball machine gave a skeptic glare and scoffed. "You said that Mordecai and Rigby had repressed sexual feelings for one another," Benson said to him.

"Well they did!" he countered.

Benson rolled his eyes and crossed his arms with annoyance. "They spent three weeks avoiding one another, and talking nasty behind each others backs. It was hell for everyone at the park!" Benson snapped at him. "They were afraid they were gonna start making out if they were around each other for too long."

"And did they?"

Benson twitched his eye, knowing full well the answer to that question. "I'm not at liberty to answer that question."

"I'll take that as a yes," Martin quipped. "And are they better now?"

Benson groaned and rubbed his hand down his face. "Of course they are. They did it right in the middle of a restaurant too, and when it was over, it was over. Mordecai went back to fawning over Margaret at the Coffee Shop, and Rigby went back to being his lazy good for nothing friend. I don't think there's any romantic feelings there anymore."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the doctor interrupted, angrily putting his hands up. "I didn't say anything about romance between the two of them. I said that they had repressed sexual feelings. There's a big difference there my friend."

"So what? They just needed to screw and they're suddenly better?"

Martin smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "Sometimes, something as simple as sex or even making out between friends is enough to clear the fog, and even strengthen a friendship. It sounds complicated and twisted from an outside point of view. They just needed to get it out of their system. They've been friends for what, twenty-something years? Not surprising that there would be something there. You can't be that close to someone for so long and not develop something there, whether it's repressed sexuality or an attachment of some kind. And for your information, Benson: the last time I saw them, I did not, nor have I EVER, sensed 'romantic feelings', as you call them, for the other what so ever."

"Yeah, those two," Benson sighed. "They definitely DO NOT belong together like that."

"I agree." Martin remained in his spot before thinking more about it.

Benson thought about it for a bit and continued to stare down the doctor. "Mordecai and Rigby weren't the only ones you screwed up you know: What about when you told Pops that he had a lot of unresolved conflicted emotions in his stomach about being a competent worker?"

"I said nothing about him being a competent worker!" Martin beamed. "I told him he was a god awful worker who was only assigned easy tasks that he wouldn't screw up because he was inept at doing any actual work to help the park, mostly because of who his father is. Once again Benson, there's a difference."

"He was in bed crying in the fetal position for a week and a half!" Benson screamed. "Maellard blamed me for him acting that way. I was assigned to take care of him until he got over it!"

"And did he get over it, the devilishly handsome doctor asked knowing the answer?" He put his fingers together like an evil mad scientist and awaited the answer with a sly grin.

"Well… well yeah, I guess," Benson murmured.

The doctor folded his arms, and adopted an accomplished shit eating expression as he leaned back in his chair. "And from what he told me, he said that he felt so bad about feeling sorry for himself that he actually built a new restroom area for the park clients, all in a single week." Martin smirked. "That seems like progress to me. And all it took was the simple truth."

"Except you hurt him pretty bad," Benson frowned.

"But he got over it though," Dr. Ploddevize mentioned. "He got over his fear of heavy duty work, the disturbingly close bird and raccoon combo got over their fear of their friendship, and every other patient I've had has gotten over their issues thanks to simple answers and comments. When given multiple solutions to a complex problem, sometimes the simplest solution is also the right and most correct solution. The term is called Occam's Razor."

"I don't see why you're telling me this, Martin," Benson said to him.

The human shrugged and clicked open his pen again to write something down. "You're stressed lately. It seems like you're trying to find a way to calm yourself down. Why not try something simple instead of trying to do something complex and involving?" The man chuckled again before continuing. "But I suppose that would involve you actually doing something to calm your stress levels now wouldn't it? Maybe that would involve coming in for a session with me?"

Benson glared at Martin. He just got a smile back in return and a sheet of paper.

"Go give that to the receptionist, and she'll give you your bill." He clicked his pen closed one more time and stuck it in his coat pocket. "It's always a pleasure talking with someone as cold and broken as I am. Ciao!" He opened the door, and exited the room.

These doctor's visits were always so informative, Benson thought to himself. He had no idea why he brought up Mordecai, Rigby, and Pops. Probably as a way to change the subject off of him, he didn't know. All Benson knew was that he needed to get back to the park ASAP. Maellard was coming for yet another visit.

Benson groaned again and headed toward the reception area. He gave the paper to the woman, who helped give him his totals, which he paid for gratefully.

**Broken Glass –**_ The Gathering_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

I really like writing these flashback episodes. It's fun to try and piece together who the park staff was before it was the park staff. You get to let your headcanon fly through the skies without a care in the world... until the actual canon comes in and kicks you in the shins. But then again, we're not gonna let something like canon get in the way of something I wrote weeks upon weeks ago just because of a recent episode (see Michelle and the former manager). But that's just my little ole opinion.

So we have two returning characters from Triangles as you can see. While Michelle is just there to fill the role of a manager for the Coffee Shop, Ploddevize has always been a fun little character to write. I suppose I liked him well enough to bring him back for this story, huh? Did you notice I didn't give him any real descriptors? I wonder what people think he looks like. Poor Howard though... he doesn't get to come back with any dialogue, does he? Oh well. That's the way the cookie crumbles! This chapter starts the _**"first point"**_ arc, so I hope you all enjoy it.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	6. Fooba Wooba John

**Chapter Six**

**Fooba Wooba John**

Status quo is a funny thing. Some people strive for it to return as soon as it lets up, while others crave for the change that its slacking brought. To the latter, the reason they crave for the change was to escape from the usual rut they had fallen into thanks to the way they lived their lives. And though he didn't want to admit it to anyone, including himself, Benson at times enjoyed the hectic moments, even when it meant he could die – which usually was more often than anyone thought. They gave him an adrenaline boost and allowed him to measure just how much of life was worth living. Unfortunately for him, when these moments become a part of the norm, then they too become a rut and expected. Now Benson was only hoping for something completely different now.

He and Skips sat in the office upstairs in the park rec house, listening to the usual mind numbing ramblings of Maellard about the park this, and the economy that, and work, work, work. Most of the time, the two usually tuned him out, listening only to the important parts that actually affected the park when they were brought up. However, today was different from other days.

Their eyes repeatedly shot up to a figure they had never seen before, standing behind the aging lolliman, looking just as bored and exhausted as they usually were when they were in there. He seemed pretty plain for the most part: somewhat tall, tan complexion, tacky sweater vest, dress pants, with short black hair and a pony tail nub on the back of his head. He yawned and readjusted his glasses, before looking down at the firearm he carried in the holster around his waste. When asked about him, Maellard smiled and introduced him as his new bodyguard.

"Why do you need a bodyguard, Mr. Maellard?" Benson asked.

Maellard shivered and frowned at the gumball machine. "It has come to my attention that there may be some… unsatisfactory characters out there that see it fit to end my life. You saw what happened to me two weeks ago," the man complained. "I refuse to take anymore chances in case something else tries to kill me."

Benson rolled his eyes. "That thing had a reason to kill you," he thought to himself. "I for one would like to know why."

Maellard looked up at his bodyguard with a stern grin. "As such, my new employee here will be accompanying me everywhere I go until I know I am 100% safe."

The gumball machine stared at the man as well and asked, "And you're okay with this?"

The bodyguard shrugged and said: "He's paying me $125 an hour to watch his back for 12 hours a day, plus Sundays off. For that kind of money I'd sprinkle the ground with rose petals where ever he walked."

"He's the best of the best!" Maellard added. "I'm actually very lucky to have found him. He was among one of the park patrons when the creature exploded. He had protected some kids playing in the park playground when it all happened. So instead of giving him a cash settlement, I just hired him on the spot – much better for him in the long run, I'd say."

Skips and Benson's sight returned to the man.

"And you're an actual bodyguard?" Skips asked.

"Well," the man said unsure, "I'm not technically licensed. But I know how to beat a person up… or slit their throat with a credit card."

"Which is good for me," Maellard interrupted him, "because I have four of them!"

Skips groaned and shook his head, while Benson tried to repress a chuckle for Maellard's decisions under his breath.

"But anyways, on to business," the old man said. "I know it's been a while since we last spoke. And in the time of the attack, I've been doing some thinking about the park."

"Uh oh," Benson whispered to Skips.

"I've noticed an unusual amount of strange things happening weekly around the park, specifically on Mondays. Yes, there are instances where there's a break in the madness and nothing questionable seems to happen. However, be that as it may, I've looked into the books to see if it's cost effective to repair the park every time or if it would just be in the better interest of the city and myself to simply shut the place down."

Both Benson and Skips tensed. Was he seriously debating shutting down the park, and putting them all out of a job?

"Then I thought to myself that this park is one of the crowning achievements of the city. And I can't risk having the community down my throat for destroying it."

The two breathed a sigh of relief, and relaxed in their seats.

"That doesn't mean I'm still not weighing in my options," Maellard continued. He pulled out a pair of reading glasses and took up a piece of paper that was laying on the desk, and read it. "According to your last audit, performed by one Don, this park is bleeding money in due part to all these events. From the monster sightings, to temporal distortions, and having to settle with any injured who were caught in the crossfire, this park is becoming more trouble then it's worth, and it's all coming out of my pocket! What do you all have to say for yourself?"

Benson took in a deep breath, and did his best to place a defense. "Sir, a lot of that isn't our fault. They just sort of happen. I'll admit that there are instances in which we do cause SOME of the issues around here, but it's nothing that we can't clean up. Remember Susan? I was able to handle her without much problem."

Maellard nodded as he remembered that horrid woman. "Yes, you were able to handle yourself surprisingly well in that situation; one of the very few times I've seen you exceed at your job requirements."

Benson wasn't sure whether or not he should take that as a compliment or an insult. He just rolled along with it and smiled nervously.

"While that's all well and good," Maellard went on, "it still doesn't excuse the fact that these occurrences happen regularly. And I am getting sick of putting more money into the park than it actually produces. Now, the park is loved by all, so I don't want to get rid of it. However, we need to think of some sort of solution to this problem before it gets any worse."

"What do you suggest we do?" Skips asked.

Maellard smiled at the yeti and said, "I'm glad you asked that Skips." He looked over to the door leading out into the hallway and screamed out to it. "You can come in now!"

The door opened, and a familiar face walked in through the door. Usually, Maellard's guests caused the staff to glower or spread some sort of look of disappointment across their faces. This was usually accompanied by an offset feeling of total tension that persisted the rest of the day. But this was one was different. Benson and Skips both smiled when they saw the tall man with a fit build, covered from head to toe in brown fur, and a face that just absolutely screamed a clone of Rigby.

"Don!" Benson said happily. "What are you doing here?"

The raccoon walked over to the chairs and bent down to give the duo some sugar. "Your boss invited me here. He wanted to discuss ways we could save money in the park, and still make some revenue off it. I guess he really liked the way I handled the books."

Maellard grinned at the man and added, "I'm also making him the official park accountant."

"That's great," Skips remarked, "congratulations."

"Thanks, but it's also on top of my other duties as a freelance accountant, so I got a lot to do now," Don said to the group. "But when I was talking to Mr. Maellard about the park, this great idea popped into my head! I think it might really help the park stay in business!"

"Enlighten us!" Maellard asked with a grin, already knowing what he was going to say.

Don leaned against a bookcase and folded his arms. "I think if we do a fundraiser of some sort for the park, it might be able to generate enough revenue to pay for a few months worth of damage costs from all the weird stuff that keeps happening. It's just a thought, but it's worth a shot."

"A fundraiser? Like an actual park event?" Benson pondered to Don.

"Yeah," the raccoon continued, "open to the public and everything. We could do rides, and auctions, and we can have a historian from the city museum talk about its founding and everything. It'll be a little work, but if we put some effort into it, we should come out with enough money to last us hopefully about six months!"

Now if Maellard had suggested this to Skips and Benson, they more than likely would have rolled their eyes at one another, coughed out a curse, and deemed the idea a complete mistake. But when it came out of the mouth of someone they liked and admired, the idea suddenly became one of the best things they had ever heard and supported it 100%.

"I think that's a great idea!" Benson said.

"It might actually be fun," Skips agreed.

Their approval caused Don's face to light up. He so enjoyed when people liked his ideas to try and save them money. Not only that, but he liked it when he could do something fun for his clients as well as the people he called friends. And his brother worked at the park too, so that made it even more of a great thing.

"Are you guys sure?" Don asked. "I mean it seems pretty sudden for you guys to approve of something like this so fast. Shouldn't we discuss it with the rest of the staff?"

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Maellard told the excited raccoon. "If these two in front of me approve of the fundraiser idea, than I assume everyone else in the park will as well."

That wasn't true, Benson thought. The gumball machine knew that Rigby and Mordecai were going to find some way of putting it down. Even worse, he knew that those two were probably going to screw everything up when they were put to work at a booth, or carnival game, or something. They might even be the ones to unleash another one of the weird things that the fundraiser was meant to prevent.

"So we're in agreement then?" Maellard asked everyone in the room, including his new bodyguard who just shrugged. The group nodded and went along with it. "Good then. That was simple enough. I was afraid we'd have to have some sort of long winded discussion about it."

"Well, sir," Don stepped forward, "there is the talk about preparations for it: date of event, catering, hiring additional help, setting up booths, all of that plus setting up the park."

"I'll leave that to you all then," Maellard said getting up. "I have another meeting to attend to with some financial investors, specifically one of the CEOs of ATRS. I'll be sure to tell Nick and the rest of his company about the fundraiser while I'm at it – try to get them to come on the day of it. Maybe they'll be able to get Barnaby out of The Tiny Chateau Institution for the day to enjoy the festivities." He then pulled out a checkbook from his coat pocket and made a quick sign off for a decent sum of money – just enough for the group to afford everything for the event. He handed it off to Benson, nodded to the three workers, and snapped his fingers at the bodyguard. "Come, Tim!"

The bodyguard waved goodbye to them and followed his employer out of the room without a care in the world. The door slammed behind them, leaving a gumball machine, a yeti, and a raccoon with the weight of a fundraiser on their shoulders.

* * *

><p>The next part involved getting the rest of the staff together to announce the fundraiser plans. Though Benson, Skips, and Don were excited about the idea, they were not excited by the large amount of work that they were going to have to put into it. They had the money though, which should be enough to ensure a decent outing. It was just the amount of work involved behind it that they were dreading.<p>

Benson called the whole park staff outside the house to explain the idea. The group, save for Rigby, were happy to hear that Don had been signed on as the parks official accountant, and would be helping out with the fundraiser; and while the rest of the staff loved the idea, and had even begun pitching ideas for booths and games, Mordecai and Rigby of course found some negativity in it.

"Are you kidding?" Rigby complained. "A fun-raiser and we don't even get to have any fun with it?"

"You can still have fun, Rigbone," Don said, "but you gotta do some work too. Your jobs are on the line with this one guys. If this doesn't work out for you all, then they may consider closing the park down. And it's FUND-raiser, by the way. You know, like trying to raise money?"

Rigby let out an audible groan. "It seems like every week the park is going to be shut down for some reason."

"No, dude," Mordecai replied to him, "every week the park is almost destroyed. I think this is the first time it might actually be closed down."

"Same difference," Rigby muttered, "either way, the park goes crazy."

Benson grunted angrily, knowing he didn't want to listen to this again. "Mordecai. Rigby. You two need to listen to Don on this one. If we screw this up, we're all fired, and unless you two want to live out on the streets, I suggest you both listen in or GET OUT!"

That pretty much shut the two up from their complaining. They folded their arms and looked at each other, mentally agreeing how lame it all sounded. They would have liked it more if they were the ones who got to do fun things, but somehow, they knew they would probably be assigned to a snack booth or something. They weren't far off. Benson was going to assign them someplace where they could cause the least amount of damage.

"High Five's and I wanna do a kissing booth!" Muscle Man demanded with a devilish smile. "All the ladies are gonna flock to us for our manly features. It'll be the pride of the show!"

"I would like to do 'pin the tail on the posterior of an equine creature!'" Pops said to Benson. "I have ever so many different versions! All of them with donkeys!" This was followed up with more giddy laughter from the naïve man.

"I guess I could sell some of my aura stones if that'll help," Skips added to the conversation. "I have way too many of them anyways."

Benson was writing up a flurry as he made sure to put each and every suggestion down on the list of booths to get set up. "These are great guy, keep em coming." He turned around to Rigby's younger brother. "Do you have any suggestions Don?"

"Don't worry about me," he said with his usual sugary sweet manner. "I'll take care of the expenses and accounting. I'll even help you keep everything organized on the day of the event. It'll be fun!"

"It's going to be stressful," Benson commented on it. "I know you already have a lot on your plate with your freelance work and all. I'm gonna have my hands full just getting all of this together, AND making sure it doesn't blow up in our faces." He gave a quick glare to both Mordecai and Rigby, who countered with a quick "hm-hm".

"I can handle it," Don said to the gumball machine. "Besides, if I'm gonna be a part of the park family, I gotta pull my weight around don't I?"

Benson thought about it for a moment, tapping the metal clipping of the clipboard against his lip quietly. "I guess it would be nice to have someone other than Skips helping me with the set up of these sort of things," he said to himself. "Alright then, Don. You can help us with overseeing this thing. But if it gets too much for you, just tell us, okay? This job can get pretty stressful."

"Don't worry," the raccoon assured him, "I'm an accountant. I'm used to stress on a daily level."

Benson took in a deep breath and placed Don's name next to his own where it was labeled "overseer". He looked at the tall raccoon and said, "We'll see, Don. We'll see..."

It didn't really do anything for Don's commitment. If anything, it worried him slightly. But the youngest of the group was ready to take on anything and make sure that this fundraiser was going to be the best around.

Benson knew that this could be too much for Don to handle, but he went along with it anyways. Who knows? Don might actually excel at the assignment and put Benson out of a job with how well he did. Surprisingly, this caused Benson to release a brief laugh that he stifled immediately.

"Anyways," he said, recomposing himself, "does anybody else have any other ideas for booths or food, or anything like that?" A mass barrage of suggestions attacked him like no other. He felt like he should have a sound barrier up to protect himself from going deaf. Every person there was talking at the same time, and it made listening and taking suggestions nearly impossible. However, through the wave of noise, one thing did happen to stick out of the mess.

It came from Rigby's voice. "Why don't we get Maaaaaargaret and the Coffee Shop crew to help us out with some of their coffee? I'll bet Mordecai would love that."

Mordecai blushed and quickly punched the mammal in the shoulder, wiping a shit eating grin right off his face.

While the two of them argued, Benson actually thought about it. "You know, that's not a half bad idea," he mentioned to them.

The duo ceased their headlocks and looked up at the gumball machine. "You mean it?" Mordecai asked him.

"Yeah sure," Benson replied. "We need someone to help provide little refreshments and snacks too, and I know those girls can cook up a good cup of joe. I'll go ask them tomorrow."

"And we can put an information booth right next to theirs," Rigby added on, "so that people can get coffee and information about everything that's around the park!"

"That's another good idea," Benson said. He was surprised. The slackers rarely thought up any good ideas on the spot like that. This was certainly a shock to see them actually come up with something competent and well thought out.

Mordecai quickly chimed in with a smile. "And Rigby and I could work the information booth!"

There it was. They just wanted an excuse to be next to coffee and lady pecs. Still, it wasn't a half bad idea. Plus, if Benson put them there, there was a far less chance of them actually screwing something up. "This might actually work out," Benson thought out loud.

"Alright then," he said with a grin to them both. "I'm putting you two slackers in charge of building and setting up an information booth."

The boys exploded into a gigantic "Oooooooooh!" before dancing around with excitement and anticipation. Rigby got his coffee and could hang with his bro, while Mordecai got the same delicious liquid blackness as well as working next to Margaret.

"But both of you have to work other booths too," Benson interjected. "Neither of you are going to be in the same booth all day. We have to spread the work around."

They stopped in their tracks and let out a long "uuuuuugh," before submitting to his orders. They knew that if they tried to argue their point, there was a good chance that the whole idea would be scrapped completely. Mordecai and Rigby wanted this information booth to happen. It meant free coffee and lady pecs between the two of them.

"Alright," Benson began again as he clicked his pen closed, "I'm gonna go call up Maellard's office and leave a message that we have the basic ideas planned out. We'll discuss a date for it and the rest of everyone's roles after work everyday until the day of the fundraiser."

The park staff agreed with him and scattered off to go finish up the rest of the day's labor.

When Benson was left alone, he groaned and cursed to himself . He liked the idea of it, but really didn't want to do any of the work. Unfortunately, he knew that if he didn't complete the task, there was a good chance the park would be lost and his job along with it. He was getting stressed out again, even from something that could be fun. He was about to leave, when he was embraced from behind with furry arms.

"You looked like you could use some sugar," Don compassionately said to him, squeezing him tight.

Benson laughed a little at the friendly gesture from the young man. "I think I'll manage somehow, Don. Thanks anyways." He tried to wiggle his way out of the raccoon's grasp, but was not given permission to do so.

Don just squeezed a little harder, bringing his head down to rest it on the gumball machine's shoulder. Benson felt the warm breath from his nose stick to his framework and shivered from the feeling. He actually liked Don's sugar. It made him feel wanted for a change.

"We'll both make it out of this alright," Don said to him, rubbing his cheek against Benson's in a playful manner.

The older of the two laughed at the show of affection, finally breaking his hold on him and gently pushing Don away as not to hurt his feelings. "You really like your sugar, don't you?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Everyone likes sugar, Benson," the raccoon returned his laugh. "I'm gonna make sure to give you and everyone else plenty of it!"

"I think Rigby might have an issue with that," the gumball machine replied.

"He's just jealous of all the sugar I give," Don continued to laugh. "I think I'll probably give double to you though. You're always stressed out, so I think you could use the sugar most of all here."

"Thanks."

"No, I'm serious, Benson," Don went on. "You do a lot of work around here and are always really stressed out by everything. I know how much of a handful Rigbone can be. So if there's anything else I can do to help you with your work load, besides give sugar, then feel free to find me."

Benson smiled and nodded to him. Don was still young and impressionable. He hadn't realized just how hard and cruel life could be yet, nor had he met someone that broke his heart so miserably. Benson hoped that he never would.

"I'll be alright, Don," the man said to him. "Let's just focus on getting the fundraiser finished, and then we'll go from there, okay?" He patted the raccoon on the shoulder and began to leave and finish the rest of his daily work.

"So I'm a part of the team, now?" Don asked.

Benson turned around, but kept on moving, his feet moving backwards. "Of course you are, just as long as you can pull your weight along with the rest of us! Just don't over do it!"

"I won't!" Don yelled back. He twiddled his fingers a bit and blushed slightly as the gumball machine trotted away to finish up his job. "I'll do my best, Benson. Just wait and see!" He then hugged himself, and spun around in a whimsy.

**Fooba Wooba John –**_ Burl Ives_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

I love Don, I really do. It's always fun to write for him cause he's such a pleasant and happy character. I could write a full length story for him, I really could. Hell, I wrote a smut fic with him and Doug along side another famous RS author on this site. There's just something about Don that makes him so lovable and pleasant to write for. But I suppose I should stop gushing now.

Setting up these arcs are so annoying sometimes, but they help to get the ball rolling. I don't consider this chapter interesting by any means. It's okay I guess. It helps add to some character development I guess. It's also the shortest chapter in the story so far. Other than that, we met Maellard's bodyguard, at least. That's something right? Right? Sigh... Hope you enjoyed the slow chapter none the less.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	7. FAX Me

**Chapter Seven**

**FAX Me**

The flyers were probably the easiest part to do when planning the fundraiser. A little bit of work on the computer, and Don had made up a cute little poster complete with lots of pretty colors, pictures of families enjoying themselves, and bright special effects that stood out above all the rest. He was happy to see some onlookers taking a gander at them when he posted the first batch of flyers next to a mattress store. This was the first sense of accomplishment he had received from working at the park.

_City Park Fundraiser and Carnival!_

_All ages welcome!_

_Bring the family for a day of food, fun, and fantastic fanaticism!_

* * *

><p><strong>1). When?<strong>

"So Mr. Maellard," Benson began as he twirled the phone cord around his fingers nervously, "I think the best date to do the fundraiser might be probably on the 27th. It's a Saturday, so there's a better chance more people would attend, and it's not for another three weeks, so it gives us a little extra time to get everything set up as well as advertise."

There was some clicking on the other end of the line, and a few light whispers. The sound of rustling paper came not too soon after that.

"Very well then," Maellard answered over the phone. "We'll make the date for the 27th of this month. I was hoping you could have it ready sooner than that, but being you are who you are, I'll give you the extra time to settle things." The comment caused Benson to quietly rage on the other side of the phone. Maellard was just lucky not to see it. "I'd also like a list of all the attractions and booths as soon as possible. My investors will be attending this, and I need to show them how competent we are, as well as point out any potential local businesses they can put money into. The key word in that sentence, Bentam, is competent."

The park manager was doing his best to try and not start screaming over the phone at his boss. Muscle Man and HFG sat at the kitchen table, watching the hilarity of an anger filled Benson jump and silently flail his fists everywhere. Benson didn't mind them laughing though. He had grown far too used to it over time. All he asked of them was to keep it down so that Maellard didn't overhear anything that he wasn't supposed to.

"I hear giggling in the background!" Maellard remarked. Obviously, Benson's pleas to the two were fallen on deaf ears. "What's going on over there?" the old man asked.

"It's nothing, Mr. Maellard," Benson quickly lied. "Mordecai and Rigby just left the TV on in the other room, and the volume is too loud. I haven't gotten a chance to go switch it off yet."

"Well what are you waiting for then, man? Electricity is an expensive commodity. Go turn it off! Is it so hard for you to do your job?"

Benson gritted his teeth and siphoned air through them is an angry way. "Alright, sir. If you hold on one second, I'll go take care of the TV and discuss more with you about the fundraiser."

"Don't bother," Maellard snapped. "I have other things to attend to as it is. The fundraiser is my lowest priority at the moment. However, I expect all of you to make it your highest. Your jobs could very well depend on in." There was a brief pause and a loud clanking sound before Maellard continued. "Timothy! Bring me another cup of coffee with some brandy in it!"

His voice sounded far and away. The phone must not have disconnected when he put it down. The gumball machine was about to hang the kitchen phone up, but was too compelled to listen in on the further exploits of his boss. He muted the phone and put it on speaker for Muscle Man and High Five Ghost to listen in as well. There was laughter all around between the three of them as they listened to Maellard and his bodyguard argue about stocks and their share prices. Benson's mood slowly began to clear as he listened to the bewildered stories of his employer.

* * *

><p><strong>2). Where?<strong>

The steps of the Coffee Shop were beginning to become all too familiar to Benson at this point. When he reached the bottom, he took a quick look around the room. He was happy he came today; there wasn't a single soul in the room at all. Being that it was still that period between lunch and dinner, he knew that now would have been the best time to talk to the staff about possibly setting up a booth at the fundraiser.

He approached the counter and looked for any signs of the red robin. Shockingly, she wasn't there. He assumed she was in the back room, working or something, and gave out a quick, "hello?" to behind the counter.

"I'm here! Don't worry!" shouted a squeaky little voice from behind the counter.

Benson stared over the edge of the counter and saw a young woman, no taller than Rigby was, looking up at him while playing her pony tail. She adjusted the rather large glasses on her face and pushed the extra strands of hair out of her sight.

"Sorry bout that," she said jumping up on a stool by the register. "What can I get for you today?"

With the girl now visible, Benson gave her a small grin. "It's Eileen right?"

The girl, shocked that someone remembered her name, looked at the gumball machine strangely. "You know me?" she asked quizzically. Her mind then suddenly snapped into place, and the smile returned to her face. "Oh I remember you now! You're that red faced gumball machine that Rigby's always complaining about!"

"Of course I am," Benson moaned. Is that all he and Mordecai ever did when they came to the Coffee Shop: complain about him behind his back on a daily basis? He didn't blame them, he could be a spaz at times, and it wasn't like he didn't complain to Skips about Maellard on routine.

Eileen giggled as she remembered some of the things that Rigby had said about Benson. She tried to keep some of it in considering their boss was actually standing right across from her, but had far too much trouble. She had to admit though, he didn't seem as monstrous as the boys made him out to be.

Benson had a feeling he knew what she was giggling about, and simply shrugged it off. The insults were beginning to feel numb to him at that point.

"My names Benson, by the way," he said to her. They shook hands officially and tried to gain a proper bit of composure around each other.

"So what is it you need Benson?" Eileen said as she suppressed her giggling. "Came in for a cup of coffee, or a late lunch?"

"None of that actually," the gumball machine replied. "I actually was looking for Margaret. I needed to talk to her about something. You see, we were wondering if you guys wanted to set up a booth or something at this fundraiser event we're having for the park."

Eileen lost her smile and replaced it with a sort of neutral expression. "Oh... then you'll need to talk to me or Michelle about it then. Margaret doesn't really have any say in the matter. She's pretty much just a worker. She's out for the day anyways: doctor's appointment."

"So you're higher up than Margaret?" Benson asked.

"Pretty much, but only by one level. I'm the assistant manager. Michelle is the store manager. Margaret and our new help are pretty much just pretty faces that serve coffee at minimum wage and tips." The mole girl sighed and tapped her finger unhappily on the counter. "It really doesn't make a lot of sense considering the amount of time I've worked here."

"How long have you been working here?"

"A little over a year," Eileen replied.

"How long has Margaret been working here?" Benson followed up.

Eileen had to think about that for a moment. When the answer came clear to her, she answered with, "about two and a half years I think."

"That long? And you're above her?"

"It's unfair, I know. Michelle keeps passing over her. There's a reason for it, but I can't tell you why. Margaret would kill me, and Michelle probably would too. Needless to say, if I could give Margaret my job, I certainly would. She definitely could use the extra money for her tuition, and I don't think I'm really that deserving of the position anyways." The short girl frowns as she thinks about it. "I hope the new girl doesn't get promoted before her. If that happens, I don't know what Margaret might do. She really doesn't deserve this kind of treatment."

Benson couldn't help but agree with Eileen. It was unfair that she would be passed over after such a long time of working there. Hopefully, whatever was keeping her down wasn't as bad as his brain was telling him. He then pondered about himself, and wondered how long he had been park manager, and if Maellard would ever give him a raise or promotion of some sort.

"Is it really that bad?" Benson asked.

Eileen looked into the machine's eyes and twirled her finger into the air. "I think it's the smallest of deals to me. She's so happy that I'm accepting of it. Margaret's always been Margaret to me. She's my best friend, so I try to be supportive for her." She flinched when she realized she might have said too much. Quickly changing the subject: "But Michelle's kind of an idiot, and way too opinionated. It's not like she has a right to talk, especially the person she shares a bed with." She follows this up with a shiver, and tries to shake the image out of her head.

"I heard he was kind of crazy," Benson said.

"The worst," she countered.

And there Benson was, getting caught up in gossip again. He wasn't there for any of that. Sure he worried about Margaret a little bit, but he had to worry about his own job first and foremost. "Anyways," Benson began, "we're doing a park fundraiser to make sure the place stays open, and that we all keep our jobs and-"

"Rigby might lose his job!" Eileen nearly yelled.

Benson stepped back a bit by the girl's sudden shock. Apparently, this girl must have had some sort of major crush on Rigby. Why anyone would fall for that pile of filth was beyond him, but perhaps he could use this to his advantage, he thought.

"Oh yeah, it's terrible," Bensons said, milking it on. "I mean, if we don't get the money for the park, then Mordecai and Rigby might end up being the first to go. It's a tragedy, it really is."

Benson didn't like having to use Rigby to pull on this girl's heartstrings, but if it meant that the park was going to be alright, then he had to do anything to make sure his job and everyone else's at the park was safe and secure. Besides, it wasn't like he was lying. He was telling her the honest truth.

Eileen tapped her feet and thought aloud. "And if we open up a booth and sell coffee, some of the money would go to the park, right?" she asked feverishly.

"Absolutely!" Benson said with a grin. "Did I mention that I was going to be setting up the coffee booth next to the information booth, where Mordecai and Rigby will be working?"

Eileen's eyes absolutely lit up. Any chance to work along side Rigby was a chance she just had to have. Her thoughts began to sift and circle around and she thought about the two of them working together, laughing, playing, being seriously romantic with one another, and having the whole day end with Rigby admitting feelings for her. She nearly jumped off of her stool when she thought about it. Even she thought is was a childish fantasy, but those dreams were what kept her wishing and hoping.

"Okay, okay!" she said with excitement in her voice. "I'll go call Michelle right now and run it past her! I'll bet she'll say yes! She always likes to do these things to try and get the shop's name out there."

Eileen wasted no time jumping out of her chair and racing over to a telephone.

"That was easy," Benson thought to himself. He spent the rest of his time there listening to a giddy mole talk to her boss about their plans for the fundraiser.

* * *

><p><strong>3). How?<strong>

Skips and Benson looked over the map of the park, now scribbled with marker and pen, doing their best to try and figure out the right positions for all these booths and attractions. There was an information booth, the coffee booth, a dunk tank, Muscle Man and HFG's kissing booth, Skips test your own strength attraction as well as a place to sell his aura stone, Pops was going to be performing comical theater along with running the pin the tail on the donkey game, and a few other people from scattered parts of the city were going to be providing their services to the event as well. Some were doing it free of charge, and some were doing with more charge than Benson could possibly even imagine. With the amount Maellard had given them though, they could handle it.

"Well how about we stick the kissing booth next to the porta-potties?" Don asked via the speaker from the phone in the kitchen. He was out and about working on getting more caterers.

"That certainly would make more sense considering it's Muscle Man," Benson mumbled audibly. Skips let out a chuckle and drew an arrow from one location to another.

"Hey, c'mon Benson," Don happily bemoaned, "I'll bet Muscle Man is a great kisser!"

"Do you wanna kiss him then?" Benson asked as he smirked and looked toward the phone.

Don paused for a second to think about it. "There's nothing wrong with a honey with your sugar, no matter how green it is."

Benson had a quick mental image of Muscle Man and Don in the acts of swapping saliva, and shivered in disgust. That could very well replace the image of Maellard attempting to seduce him in his nightmares on the rare nights he actually did dream – like he needed anything else to scare the living daylights out of him.

"But I suppose if I had to choose someone from the park," the raccoon continued, "I'd probably just stick with you Benson. You seem like someone who doesn't get any honey what so ever." He laughed after this, finding the things he said to be surprisingly hilarious.

Benson stopped his scribbling and vacantly looked down at the map. He could hear Skips laughing under his breath. "So I don't get enough honey now?" Benson whispered to himself. "That's just great."

"I hear High Five is going to be kissing both the girls and guys," Skips added, changing the subject away from his boss.

A sort of affectionate sound came out of Don before saying, "that's adorable."

Benson once again rolled his eyes at the carefree raccoon. If there was anything he didn't want to talk about right then, it was the kissing habits of Muscle Man and High Five Ghost. He had to listen to one of them talk about it on an almost daily basis. Plus, he had just recently eaten and didn't need any more mental images making his day more unpleasant.

"Back to the original subject," Benson snapped, "we still need to find an area where we can stick all these caterers. We got four restaurants who are going to be doing some cooking."

"Five actually," Don added.

"Five then," Benson said as he put another square onto the side of the map with a random name inside. He drew an arrow to the spot where it was going to be, somewhere with the rest of the restaurants.

"It might be six," Don continued. "I'm on my way to the last one right now. Good thing too, because I'm getting pretty tired. I haven't eaten any lunch yet, and none of these businesses will give me any sugar for my time spent with them."

Benson put the pen down and sighed. "I told you this was going to be stressful, Don. Just finish up what you got, and then take a long break. We can handle everything else."

"No, I want to help!" Don said. "If I'm going to be part of this family, I need to pull my weight in and get things done, just like Rigbone."

"Who told you Rigby pulls his weight around here?"

"Well my big bro, of course! He keeps saying you're going to give him a promotion sometime in the future. When is that anyways?"

Benson was happy that Don wasn't there, because at that moment, the gumball machine was busy slamming his head against the top of the kitchen table repeatedly. Skips stood there and did nothing, except follow the machine's makeshift attempt at hurting himself with his eyes. Benson was actually quite impressed that his new head dulled some of the pain a bit. And still no scratches either.

"What's that banging sound?" Don asked from the other end of the line.

"Just the usual, Don," Skips commented.

"Oh, well… okay…" Don replied with confusion in his voice. He wasn't sure what "the usual" meant, but was sure he would find out in time.

The raccoon had been overly excited about becoming a part of the staff since it was announced, even if he was only meant to be the park accountant, and only part time at that. But he still felt as though he needed to put his best foot forward and do just as much work as the others. Besides, this gave him more time to be with his brother whom he loved to pieces. They didn't have the best of relationships, but at least it gave him some time to better know his older sibling, and that was enough for him.

Benson was not sharing the same sentiment however. While he admired Don for all the hard work he put into keeping the parks financial records sound and without flaw, he did worry about the raccoon and his mental state. He knew that Don would be able to get these things around the park done no problem. It was the stress that had Benson worried. Don was already stressed working on the accounts and finances of god knows how many people, and the added stress of the fundraiser and the park certainly wouldn't help. Not to mention that Don was emotionally sensitive. If Benson had it his way, Don would have stayed behind a computer and do what he did best: supporting the staff with sugar and high spirits.

Eventually, Benson stopped banging his head against and table and looked over to the phone again. He walked over to it and told Don to call him back when he had more news on the last caterer.

"Okay then, Benson!" Don said joyfully. "When I get back later, I expect some sugar from ya!" The phone clicked and the dial tone came on after that.

Benson pressed the button to hang up the phone on his end, and leaned against the wall to try and breath. Whatever stress Don might have been feeling right then paled in comparison to the one that Benson had. The gumball machine could feel his head pulsating in a ravaging pain, and gripped it with his hand, hoping that that might make it better somehow. He looked over to Skips for some sort of sympathy. He didn't get it. The yeti was too busy looking over the scribbles and marking on the map and trying to offer his own take on locations and such.

"Maybe we should move the caterers over to the information booth so they'll be next to the Coffee Shop," Skips pondered. "Just a thought to keep all the booths with food together."

"Nah," Benson groaned, "then Mordecai and Rigby will want to eat everything instead of manning their stations."

"You really don't trust them, do you?"

Benson smiled. "I don't really trust anything that has to do with this fundraiser coming up next week. I'm tired, I'm stressed, and I can't wait for this thing to be over."

"You shouldn't worry so much over this stuff," Skips reassured him. "Everything is going to work out just fine."

Benson bust out laughing. "You really think so? You actually think everything is going to work out just fine? When has it ever? Something is going to happen, and it's going to jeopardize this whole event, I promise you. This happens like clockwork Skips. It's a pattern!"

Skips honestly didn't want to hear such negativity. Benson and Don weren't the only ones stressed about all of this. The entire park staff was getting worked to the bone to make sure they didn't lose their jobs, and Benson's constant hounding and stressful nature wasn't helping matters much.

"I'm going out for some fresh air," Skips announced. "Maybe try to get away from this negative environment for a bit."

Benson was surprised to hear Skips say that. It was obviously directed at him, and the gumball machine didn't like it. "Skips!" he yelled to the yeti skipping away. He was just about to follow him out and apologize when the phone rang.

He groaned and turned a deep shade of crimson before answer the phone. "WHAT!" he roared as loud as he could.

"Bentumor!" Maellard yelled. "What's all this screaming about? Now is not the time to be screaming!"

Benson really wanted to curl into a ball and cry at that moment. Instead, he forced all of his rage into the pit of his gears and apologized to Maellard as best as he could. He put on his best face, took a deep breath and tried to explain himself.

Skips walked out the back door, shaking his head and cursing his boss out. He took a few steps down the stairs, but stopped halfway down. He looked back up at the still open door that he didn't close in his anger. A pain shot through his body that vibrated into his heart. He wanted to go up and say something, but...

He couldn't get involved... no matter how much he wanted to.

**FAX Me – **_Yoko Kanno_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>**  
><strong>

You know, I don't have a lot to say on this one. I honestly believe that out of all the chapters in the entire story, this one is without a doubt, the weakest of the bunch. It's pretty much just a way to explain the fundraiser and all the characters involved in it. I suppose you can call it filler, cause that's all it really boils down to. Still, I enjoyed writing it, and it didn't feel like a chore like the other chapter did. So I guess... Mission Accomplished?

I actually did add a bunch of character exposition on the proof read though. So that basically added another 1000 words to the original draft. Of course, I like writing character exposition. Tis fun!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	8. Home Again Garden Grove

**Chapter Eight**

**Home Again Garden Grove**

While he was dutifully stressed out, Benson couldn't help but feel that rare sense of accomplishment when he took a look at the park from the porch steps of the rec house. The place actually looked great. The booths were set up with random strangers pouring in to set up, as well as the park staff already manning their stations. The morning breeze carried with it the scent of breakfast and lunch foods that, no matter how full a person was, would always make their mouth water for more. A few muffled yells and discussions went on in the background that added to the atmosphere of the cheerful morning, and because of all this, Benson felt proud of himself, as well as pride for the others. A good start to what he hoped would be a worthwhile day.

He took a small sip from his mug filled with orange juice, and tried to relax. He could already feel the sweetness and vitamin C coursing through his gears, giving him that morning boost he so desperately would need. The actual event wasn't starting for another hour, so Benson took that time to catch his breath and "charge his batteries" up. It was going to be the only bit of calm he was going to have all day. If he were smarter, he would have requested the following day off to recover. But he needed the money anyways, and this wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He had dealt with worse before.

He heard the front door open, and someone approach him from behind. They knelt down and sat next to him with a plate, spoon, and a glass of juice in hand. Benson smiled at the stranger and wished him the best greeting he could.

"And good morning to you too," Don said, putting his glass of juice down next to him. He beamed happily, returning the man's good nature.

"Are you ready for today?" Benson asked.

"You bet I am!" the raccoon exclaimed, before holding out his plate to the gumball machine. "Grapefruit?"

Benson shook his head and let Don have the whole thing. The younger of the two was going to need it without a doubt. Benson could see the exhaustion that was already sprawled out across Don's face. He had been running around the city trying to help get things planned and figured out, as well as helping with booth setup, and managing the event, that he barely had time to even take a break or sleep. He had been pushing himself too hard in all of this. And while someone like Benson was used to this - having to work with this kind of stuff on a daily basis - the most Don was ever used to were numbers and calculations in front of a computer screen. All of this multi-planning on top of his already stressful accountant job was not good for him, and it showed on his face.

"Did you sleep well?" Benson wondered to Don.

The raccoon gave him a sort of nervous grin before answering, "not really."

Benson had a feeling that this day may not end well for either one of them. Don was probably going to snap under the pressure of the park, while Benson was more than likely going to be grilled by Maellard the entire day, as well as deal with all the park patrons.

"Well, take this time to rest up," Benson replied. "You and I are gonna have a big day today. Maellard is going to be watching us both like a hawk I'm sure."

"You sure about that?" Don inquired. "He seemed to be in a pretty good mood this morning. He and Timmy are inside watching financial reports. Last I checked they were having a friendly discussion over the price of wheat."

"Wheat? Like bread?"

Don nodded to him. "Yeah. Timmy said he thinks the price is going to go way up in the near future, while Maellard thinks it's all going to drop sometime soon. Those two are a pair."

"A pair of what?" Benson pondered out loud with a grin.

"A pair of great guys, of course!" Don said with a great big smile. "And because they're so great, they get a good amount of sugar everyday!"

Benson huffed out a laugh and took another sip of his juice. He was enveloped in fur a moment later as Don pulled him into a one armed hug.

"But I think you deserve just a little more sugar than everyone else here, eh Mr. Stressed?" He winked at Benson, who leaned into the hug. Don's hugs were always a sought after commodity, so everyone at the park (save for Rigby) considered it an honor to get a hug from such a wonderful person. Don pulled away a few seconds later, with the smile still spread across his face.

Benson thanked him for the sugar and sighed with a little content in his voice. He looked up at the sky and watched the puffy formations transform and sprint along the blue, while he quickly finished off his juice. When he looked back at Don, he found the young man still staring at him with doe eyes. Benson looked away with a hinted blush and felt his stomach bubble.

"Don't look at me like that, okay?" he said to him. "I don't like it when people look at me like that."

"Why not?" Don asked moving a little closer to Benson.

"Because I just don't. And to be honest you're making me feel a little bit uncomfortable."

"Well I don't want to make you feel that way, Benson. I wanna see you smile," Don said, a little softer than before. "You have this stressed out mood about you all the time. And it just feels like I could-"

"Stop right there," Benson interrupted, holding his hand up to cease the raccoon from advancing any further. "I've been ignoring most of the signs these past few weeks because I thought you were just being playful, but I'm sorry, Don. It's not happening."

"Oh," Don said, stopping in his tracks and looking down on the grassy park lawn.

The two sat there in silence for a little bit, hoping that the awkward nature of the conversation would fly away at some point.

"I'm sorry," Don finally spoke. He laughed at himself and rubbed the back of his head nervously. "I guess I was just thinking… I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I'm just stressed out right now."

"It's alright," Benson said with a sincere smile. "A little awkward, but it's alright. I remember what it was like to be young and confused about everything."

"So you're not mad?"

"Why would I be? Far weirder things have happened to me at this park weekly than you having a little crush on me."

Don laughed a bit. "I guess it is a little silly, huh. I think I just really admire what you do for everyone, and I guess I'm still kind of confused about my own feelings, trying to come into things, you know?."

Benson's grin widened. True, it was a strange exchange that just too place, but it made his spirit soar. Someone told him that they admired and liked him, even pretty much said they were attracted to him. That helped give him a boost of strength needed to handle the day.

"Don't worry about it," Benson said to the younger man. "We've all been in your shoes before."

"Yeah," Don coughed out. "Could you… not tell Rigbone about this? I really don't want him to get the wrong idea or anything like that."

"Don, I'm not telling anyone what happened here."

"Cause you're ashamed?"

"No. Because every employee in this park wouldn't shut up about it. The men who work at this park gossip worse than the women at the Coffee Shop." Benson let out another laugh and relaxed a bit. Even Don gave a couple of giggles. "So yes, we're good," Benson added. "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks," Don sighed, with a bit of relief in his voice this time. He took a piece of grapefruit in his hand and looked at it. Truthfully, because of that little problem, he had lost his appetite, but still knew he needed to eat something. He was about to scoop out a piece with his spoon, when he noticed something on the palm of his hand. "Is that still bleeding?"

Benson's attention completely focused on Don and his hand. He snatched the raccoon's hand and looked at it. A large diagonal cut stretched from the base of his pinky to his thumb, and was slowly bleeding out. It wasn't enough to drip or trickle, but the red stuff was still there. "How did this happen!" Benson screamed.

"It was an accident," Don answered, "while I was cutting up grapefruit. I already cleaned it. It doesn't need bandaging, so don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

Benson didn't care. He forced the raccoon up from off the steps and brought him into the house, going straight towards the kitchen. It pissed him off that Don didn't properly take care of this thing.

"What's going on?" Maellard inquired as the two passed by the couch.

"Don accidentally cut himself is all," Benson said simply.

Maellard only nodded and returned to his show about fiscal reports and such. His body guard, Tim, gave the two of them a quick and curious look, before shrugging and returning back to the TV show.

The rest of Benson's time consisted of him holding Don's hand under the water with soap until the bleeding stopped. Don cringed in pain the whole way through. He was going to have to suffer more though: they were out of bandages and wraps.

* * *

><p>Benson knew his day was only going to get worse from there on in. The fundraiser had begun, and it was his job to go around and make sure everything and everyone was present and accounted for. He was also in charge of making sure none of the vendors were breaking any rules, and that his own employees weren't doing anything questionable. Considering his staff, he was more worried about them than the actual venders.<p>

It started with Muscle Man getting slapped three times by three women, all in a row. It got to the point where he got so upset, he started flinging insults at the women who didn't want to come to him. Mind him, a good majority of the female customers loved that green skin of his, but those three women in particular didn't take shit from anyone. Benson eventually had to move him over to the kiddy area with the moon jump and little carnival games, leaving High Five's to manage the whole thing. The ghost, as it turned out, was an exceptionally fine kisser, as Benson found out first hand when the ghost – high on affection – gave him a quick kiss, confusing him for a customer. Benson laughed it off though. He was surprised to see the spirit even get a few numbers from the ladies. Fives threw them out however, having no interest in dating or sex from either gender, and continued his little kissing games.

Skips' strong man games were a surprise hit, attracting teenage boys who were doing their best to impress their young lady friends. Skips couldn't help but chuckle whenever he saw a cocksure young man barely get to the half way point on the test your strength game. He also earned himself a sense of self esteem when he beat every single one of the contestants in arm wrestling.

Benson stood by and watched the customers come one after the other, forking over their hard earned cash to prove the yeti wrong on both his games. No one was able to surpass him in the arm wrestling competition. But a young albino woman in his her late teens was actually able to hit the Test Your Strength machine hard enough to get a ring of the bell. She was happy to win an aura stone necklace for her girlfriend. And though Skips grinned happily at the couple, there was a sort of sadness in his eyes when he looked at the two of them. "Who knows," Benson thought, "maybe they remind him of some people he once knew."

Pops' pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game was popular among the kids, more so by the fact that he too was playing along with the children than actually supervising them. A few of the parents commented on what a wonderful clown Pops was and wondered what he was like when he wasn't acting. Benson really wanted to correct the dutiful mothers and fathers, but knew that would only stir up trouble. So when he passed by the booth a second time and saw Pops with a child riding on his back with excitement, he smiled, shook his head, and wandered off to his next destination.

When Benson saw the stretching line by the information booth, he couldn't help but let out an evil laugh. He didn't expect the info booth to be so crowded, and assumed most people would have just wandered around aimlessly to all the attractions. But there it was: people asking where this and that were, and Mordecai and Rigby going crazy to accommodate the patrons. Benson wanted to ask how they were doing, but they looked too busy to have to deal with him. On the occasions where the two actually got their work done, Benson felt that interrupting them might shift their moods negatively. He knew they hated him, so it might have been in the best interests of all parties if he just let them be.

"Hey Benson!" yelled a feminine voice to the gumball machine.

He looked over to the booth next to Mordecai and Rigby's, and found Margaret and Eileen waving to him. He waved back and approached them. The booth seemed to be in well enough order: it was smaller than the rest of them, but carried all the supplies and equipment necessary to make a good cup of coffee. Though, Benson was actually surprised that there were no customers considering the info booth next door to them was so busy.

"Hi girls," Benson greeted. "Keeping busy?"

Both the mole and robin stared at each and then sighed.

"It's a disaster," Margaret answered. "We were expecting it to be busier than just a couple of customers every hour. If we don't make a certain amount of cash before the end of the day, Michelle is gonna kill us both."

"Well, she'll only yell at you, and you'll get away with only a warning," Eileen remarked. "I'm the assistant manager. She's going to rip my tail off, and unlike the common tree lizard, I can't grow mine back."

Benson grinned at Eileen's quirky little nature. She was a breath of fresh air. They both were.

"And look at Rigby over there," the mole continued. "He looks so tired and worn out – maybe I should go take him some coffee."

"Mordecai too," Margaret added, "since he looks like he's about to collapse. That is, of course, if it's okay with their boss." The robin and mole beamed at Benson with affectionate eyes.

He laughed at them. "It's fine with me," he said with a shrug. "If it keeps them doing their work and not slacking off, I'm okay with it."

Eileen jumped up and down in a giddy nature, and quickly turned around to prepare two cups of piping hot coffee, just the way the boys like it. A big smile spread across her face as she shaped the foam from one of the cups into that of a heart.

"Could you do that with Mordecai's too, Eileen?" Margaret asked.

The mole nodded and slowly began to decorate the second cup with the same precision as the first one. Afterwards, she took the cardboard mugs in hand and slowly made her way next door.

Benson raised an eyebrow at Margaret's request. Sure Mordecai had a huge crush on this girl, but did Margaret share the same thing for him? This was quite curious in Benson's eyes. "A heart for Mordecai too?" Benson said in an inquisitive tone. His smile widened as he noticed the faintest blush across the girl's face. Even with all that red plumage, it was still as plain as day.

"Well, why not?" she asked him. "There's nothing wrong with making sure they both have the same enjoyable coffee experience." She paused for a second and groaned when she realized just how silly she sounded. "Enjoyable coffee experience? Ugh, now I'm starting to sound like Michelle."

Benson huffed out a laugh and crossed his arms. "You and Mordecai are something else."

"And why do you say that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Hey," Margaret exclaimed gleefully, "I already know he's got a big crush on me. You'd have to be blind not to see that. I can't help it if I got a little one back."

"A little one?" Benson said as he leaned against the booth.

The girl's face contorted a bit in embarrassment, and she looked away from the gumball machine. "Well… maybe bigger than a little."

Benson shook his head and asked, "Why haven't you asked him out yet?"

"I have my reasons," she said sadly.

"Do you mind if I ask what those are?"

"I do actually. So if you don't mind…" She held her arm in embarrassment and looked away shyly from Benson.

"It's alright," the machine cut in. "I understand Margaret. We all have skeletons in our closet. Believe me…"

Margaret closed her eyes and sighed in exhaustion. She began to nervously rub her feathers. "Mine's a little… different… than others," she groaned.

Benson sensed the turmoil she was plunging into, and tried to think of something to say in order help her feel better. "Try not to think about. You'll only make yourself feel worse." He knew that wasn't going to do much, but it was something. He got a nod and a sigh out her.

Margaret appreciated the concern, but really didn't want it. God knows she got enough of that from Eileen whenever the subject was brought up.

"So how is the ummm… supervising coming?" Margaret asked, trying to change the subject.

"Slow and steady," Benson answered. "How's the coffee making coming along?"

Margaret let out a slightly annoyed smirk and spread her wings out to show off the booth. "This is it right here. I still don't understand why Michelle would send the three of us out here when Eileen and I would have just worked fine."

"Three?" Benson asked. "There are three of you here?"

"Yeah," Margaret moaned, "Eileen, myself, and the new girl." The robin shuttered unhappily as the last two words came out of her mouth.

Benson recognized that expression and shiver anywhere. It was the same look he gave himself in the mirror every time he had to deal with the two idiots in the booth next door. "That bad, huh?" he said with some sympathy.

"The worst," she snapped. "You complain about Mordecai and Rigby; well, I think I found my equivalent of them in this one girl. I can't stand her. She does her job okay, but she gets so snippy and angry about it, and if there's something wrong with her face then she just sits around applying make-up and working on her hair. She's the role model for the lazy female stereotype! She's driving me up the wall!"

"I know the feeling," Benson said with empathy.

"And you know what's worse? Eileen and Michelle are completely blind to it. They give her the benefit of the doubt all the time, and never hold her accountable for anything. You wouldn't believe how angry it makes me!" The girl's wings curl into a fist as she continues to think about it.

"Oh I could believe it," Benson laughed. "The stories I could tell you."

Margaret proceeded to get on eye level with Benson, who was actually enjoying the site of someone just as annoyed and angry at their coworkers as he was. "I mean, really, I just want to go up to her, look her right in her frozen ice queen eyes, and say, 'Veronica, if you don't-'"

"Veronica!" Benson shouted.

Margaret flinched by the sudden raise in Benson's tone. "Uh, yeah," she said to him. "That's the name of our new employee."

Benson's eyes darted back and forth in a panic. It couldn't have been the same one, it just couldn't. There were tons of girls in the world named Veronica. The chances were slim. But he had to know though. This was a matter of sanity and lunacy. "Is she a gumball machine!" he quickly asked Margaret.

"What? I mean…"

"IS SHE A GUMBALL MACHINE!" he screamed as loud as he could, grabbing the robin by her apron and bringing her in.

"Why don't you look for yourself?" cooed a deep female voice from behind him.

He let go of the robin and felt himself began to sweat bullets. That voice. He could never forget that deep and sensual voice that he had grown accustomed to so many years ago. He was a younger man then. He was still naïve and unaware of how cruel the world truly was. He was a peace maker, a musician, a lover, a romantic. He was everything that he always wanted to be. And then she came along…

"_goOD bYe BeNny," she said in a truly cruel tone. Her bags were packed, she had on her Sunday best, and was ready to leave forever. Once on the train she would be gone for good – no coming back. No matter what Benson said to her though, she was leaving, and that was that. "I'm LeaVINg YoU fOR a BUSiNeSs MAn."_

Benson shook himself back from his harsh memories of her. The less thought about that day, the better. He had tried so desperately to block it out of his mind, but life always had another plan for him. He gulped and turned around slowly to meet the keeper of the voice.

There she stood: A gumball machine, same height and model as he. Unlike him though, her features were more feminine, painted on with expensive lipstick and mascara. Gorgeous blonde hair stretched down past her shoulder and dangled, carelessly hitting the violet colored steel body she prided herself on. Nothing about her had changed in Benson's eyes. The only thing that seemed different from before was the coffee apron she sported, which was surprisingly clean considering Margaret and Eileen's aprons were always stained with something.

The woman smirked and nodded to her ex-lover. She barely even acknowledged Benson as she passed by him and entered the booth, positioning herself next to Margaret. Her sights were set on the robin. "Don't let me interrupt you, sweet Margaret," she said in a snide tone. "Please go on and explain to Benny here why it is that I'm just an awful worker. I'm quite curious about that myself." She placed her elbows down on the counter of the booth and rested her head on the palms of her hand, batting her eyelashes boastfully to Margaret.

Margaret looked at the smug looking female contraption, and then over to Benson as the realization set in. "You and her?" she coughed out.

Benson took a few steps back. This wasn't happening. That woman wasn't there. He was having a hallucination from months and months of stress of having to deal with the park. No no, she couldn't have been there. That part of his life was behind him now. He had to have been dreaming. That had to be it! He was having a nightmare after all those nights of dreamless slumber. This couldn't be real. Maybe if he pinches himself, he'll wake up.

But Veronica was there though. She didn't even need to say anything to him in order to get a reaction. His legs were already shaking, his hands twitching, sweat pouring down his dome, and his mouth had gone completely dry. His thoughts were moving so fast that he gained a headache that went numb no more than three seconds after it arrived.

"Well what's wrong, Benny?" Veronica asked. "Don't you want to know why I'm such a bad worker? Or maybe you just wanna know why you think I was such a bad lover."

Margaret edged away from her. Whatever Veronica and Benson once had must have been something truly awful. The look on the man's face was proof enough of that.

"Well go on then!" she snapped at the two of them. "One of you surely has something to say! I mean, if you're going to bring it up, then I suppose I have a right to know, don't I? You know talking behind people's backs is rude."

Benson opened his mouth, but only hot air came out. He wanted to tell her off, bitch and moan at her, make her cry even, but his fear of past memories were keeping him from saying what needed to be said. If he could even acknowledge her, that would be a step in the right direction. But that hideous smirk kept all of his energy built up inside him.

Finally he took in a breath and squeaked out a very nearly silent, "g-g-go away…" before taking another few steps back.

"I'm sorry," Veronica said, brushing some of her hair aside. She pointed where her ear would have been toward Benson and said, "Could you repeat that?"

Benson didn't. He just ran as fast as he could; Turned on a heel and bolted away from the coffee booth. He could have sworn he heard Margaret call out his name, and Veronica's deep cackle. But the place was getting further and further away now, which was what Benson wanted. He didn't care about the people he was inadvertently bumping into, nor did he care to apologize. He just needed to get as far away from that hell as he possibly could. He felt a little bad for leaving Margaret there with her, but he knew the robin could take care of herself. She was strong; stronger than him.

Benson made a beeline for the park house when it came into view, still not caring who he hit or rudely inconvenienced. He past Skips booth at one point, to which the yeti asked what was happening. He didn't get an answer. The yeti thought the worst, and temporarily closed his booth down while he chased after the gumball machine.

As soon as Benson was within a few feet of the house, he climbed up the steps, opened the front door, jumped inside, and slammed the door behind him. He took a few deep breaths and slid down onto the floor. He could hear his gears spinning like a lunatic's. The metallic pulsating sound that burst out deafened him as he tried to catch his breath.

"Benson?" someone from the living room said.

He looked over into the room and saw Don looking at him with a tired and worn out expression from the couch. Benson got up from the floor and wobbled toward the raccoon, plopping down next to him.

"What are you doing here?" Benson panted.

"Taking a break," Don said exhausted. "Something happened over in the catering side, and I pretty much had to clean up a couple a hundred pounds of dirty cookie dough from off the ground by myself."

The raccoon looked awful. His fur was messy and spiked out. His hands were dirty with cookie dough and dirt, and he looked as though he were about to pass out at any moment.

"No one wanted to help," he added as he leaned back into the couch cushion. "So I thought I could come in here and rest a little bit before going back out there." His eyes glanced over to his friend. "Why are you here?"

Benson mimicked him and leaned back. "I think I lost my mind for a few minutes. Now I'm not sure what I'm feeling."

"Will some sugar help?" Don outstretched his arms, but when Benson shook his head, they came back down onto the cushions. The tall man sighed and gripped at the couch. "I think you were right, Benson. I think I may have bitten off more than I could chew."

"Then stay here for the rest of the day," Benson groaned, massaging his glassy temple, "or go sit down and handle one of the booths. Why not go help High Five Ghost at the kissing booth. I'll bet a lot of girls and guys would find you attractive."

"No," Don quickly declared, "I'm not changing anything. I'm gonna stick with this until the end. I said I was going to."

Benson groaned and stared at the disheveled raccoon. He really didn't want to deal with Don's issues again, especially since he was still dealing with his own, but if he didn't, than things would only get worse for the kindly sugar loving man. "What do you feel like right now, Don?"

"Well, I feel like doing what I said I was going to do!" Don replied with a smile.

"No, I mean what do you FEEL like right now."

"Oh… well I guess I kind of feel like wanting to scream. But I won't! There's still too much that needs to be done!"

It was pretty much what Benson figured. If Don continued to push himself, he was probably going to snap. Though Benson wasn't sure if it would be a tearful or rage filled meltdown. Either way, he didn't want to take the chance of either one.

"Go home, Don," he said sternly to the raccoon. "I can take care of everything from here."

"It's alright!" Don quickly countered. "I can handle this! I just need a break every now and then. Just bare with me okay?"

"I don't know if I can…"

The front door opened and slammed right in the middle of Benson talking. Both the gumball machine and raccoon looked behind them to see Skips with a worried expression about him.

"What's going on?" he asked in huff. "I saw you sprinting away from something."

Now Benson felt like a real heel. He either had to lie, or explain to Skips that he got freaked off by his reintroduction to the girl that broke his very will to live at the time. He was about to say something, when the front door opened and closed again.

"BENSOOT!" Maellard screamed as he entered with Tim. "What in blue blazes has gotten into you? I've just received several complaints from some people saying that you were ramming into them left and right! What's going on!"

"That's what I'd like to know," Skips added on.

Benson sighed. Skips and Maellard stood side by side, with a bored bodyguard behind them, wanting to know what was going on. He looked around himself for something to say, but knew he had to tell them the truth and feel the brunt of their disappointment, not to mention embarrassment.

"Look I was at the coffee booth when-"

"When he saw me losing my mind," Don quickly cut in. "And when I saw him approaching me, I made a mad dash for the house out of worry. He was just chasing after me to see if I was alright."

Maellard scratched his chin and thought about it. "But why would you be worried, my boy?"

"Because I'm afraid you all would think I'm not a very good worker," Don admitted. "I'm just trying really hard to impress everyone." He looked over to Benson and smiled.

Don had just saved Benson's bacon, and was taking full responsibility. While it was noble of the raccoon to do such a thing, it left Benson feeling more than terrible.

Maellard let out a loud sigh and slowly stepped toward the raccoon. "Don… go wash your hands, and take fifteen minutes to cool yourself down. I have plenty faith that you will get the job done."

"Thank you sir," Don said, getting up from the couch. He stepped away toward the kitchen to wash himself of his exhaustion, turning his head and giving Benson a quick wink.

Benson felt that wink hit him with a powerful emotional force. Don shouldn't be there. If he kept working he was only going to get much worse. The raccoon seemed like the type of person who bottled up his anger, and Benson didn't want anyone to be around when it went off.

"Mr. Maellard," he began, looking towards his boss, "please send Don home."

The aged lollipop man looked stared at Benson with a doubting face. "And why should I do that?"

"Look at him!" Benson cried. "He looks like he's about to go insane. He's penting up all his emotions, and I don't think he should be here when things become too much for him." He shifted his focus on the yeti then. "You agree, right Skips?"

"Weeeeeeell," Skips groaned, "I agree he may be on the verge of a breakdown, but I don't think he should be sent home. We need all the help we can get. I think Don might be okay if we have someone watching him, just in case."

"Excellent idea, Skips!" Maellard said with a smile. His attention shifted back to Benson. "Bencooler, you and Don will work together for the remainder of the day. I'm holding you personally responsible if anything happens to him."

Benson didn't even have a say in the matter. He was suddenly thrust with extra responsibility. Why was it that his days always got worse and worse as they progressed? "No wait," Benson tried to chime in, "I don't…"

"I hope you heard that, Don!" Maellard yelled into the kitchen.

"I certainly did," Don said as he exited the kitchen, his hands a little less filthy now. "That sounds like a great idea to me! It might be more fun to work with a friend, anyways."

"But listen…"

"Good then," Skips said. "I'm heading back to my booth."

"Don't I get a say…?"

"Not so fast, Skips!" Don stopped him. "Nobody's leaving here until I get some sugar from each and every one of you!"

Benson was left speechless. No matter how much he argued against it, he was stuck. No one was listening, no matter how loud he got. He was the first to get a quick hug was Don. Usually, his sugar helped calm him down a bit, but now… he just wanted to scream. The raccoon's sugar suddenly tasted bitter, and left little holes in his mouth from the tenderness it gave. It was a strange feeling.

Don approached Maellard and hugged him, lifting him into the air. The old man actually seemed to enjoy it. Skips gave him one before Don could even approach him, and quickly left back to his booth after that. When the raccoon tried to get one from Tim, the bodyguard refused at first, but was forced into one when Don grabbed his hand and pulled him into a hug. Tim squirmed at first, but gave up and relaxed into it after a while. When the sugar shack was complete, they all returned to their jobs.

* * *

><p>"You know," Don began as he walked along with Benson, "this isn't so bad when it's with another person. It's actually kind of fun."<p>

"So I take it that means you're calming down?" Benson asked as he looked at a dunk tank with Muscle Man's girlfriend, Starla, in the seat. She waved to the passers before falling into the murky water below.

"A little," the raccoon replied to him. "I think I'm just more excited to be hanging out with a great guy like you!"

Benson grumbled something and shrugged. "Just make sure you remember that we're supposed to be working. We can play around later on in the day when attendance starts to dwindle."

"Well yeah…" Don moaned, "but that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun while we're working." He smiled at Benson and wrapped his arm around his neck.

"What did we talk about this morning?" Benson asked with some slight annoyance.

"Hey hey, c'mon Benson! I'm just being friendly! You should know me by now."

Benson rubbed the side of his head. It still hurt from seeing Veronica, and was getting worse when he thought about Don and his intentions. He didn't know if he could trust the raccoon or not, but he had been assigned to a task and had no choice but to fulfill it. His job, as usual, depended on it.

"I know, Don," Benson muttered. "Sorry."

He expected Don to give him some sort of frown or disappointed expression. Benson didn't know why, he just felt like his foul mood would spread like a deadly virus. Instead, Don continued to shine with enthusiasm as the two of them walked along the carnival's many make shift paths.

Benson let out a discontent sigh. Don of course heard it. To him it was a cry for help and attention. "So what are you REALLY upset about, Benson?" he pried.

"Do you really want to know?" the gumball machine asked.

Don nodded and continued to beam with an honest grin. He hoped that by doing this it might help Benson open a little more.

Benson loved those stupid little grins the raccoon gave him. Don reminded him of that delightfully campy classmate that everyone had back in high school: the one who was always happy, always energetic, always telling bad jokes, and always optimistic even when the chips were down. Back in high school though, Benson found that particular classmate to be annoying as hell. Nowadays, he finds someone like that to be god send, as someone he can trust and feel good about being around. Don, in actuality, more than likely was that classmate that everyone had, which made the moment a little more sweeter.

"Apparently, my ex-girlfriend just started working at the Coffee Shop," Benson admitted.

"Girlfriend!" Upon hearing that one word, a wave of guilt and humiliation swept over Don from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. "Oh jeez," he nervously quipped. "Oh Benson… ummm… look about this morning. Oh uh… I'm sorry, I didn't know. I mean I just never saw you with another woman or talking about them, so I just assumed and…"

Benson let out a roar of laughter, disrupting Don's nervous apology. The raccoon looked at Benson anxiously, a slight blush of embarrassment streaked across his face.

"It's alright Don," Benson laughed. "It's alright, really. You're not the first guy to hit on me before."

"That doesn't make what I did any better though," the younger man complained.

"I promise you Don, it's alright," the laughing machine continued. "I guess I do kind of give off that vibe, don't I?"

"I… I don't know," Don gulped. "I mean, I thought at first… and I shouldn't be jumping to conclusions like that, and…"

Benson calmed his laughter and patted the raccoon on the arm. "Really doesn't make any difference to me. Technically, Don, I'm genderless. Man, woman, machine, and yes, even raccoon are pretty much open game to me."

"Genderless?" Don repeated out loud. "Like you aren't a boy or a girl?"

"Technically, no. I guess I just sort of fell into the mannerisms of a man, and my voice has always been naturally deep, so I just stuck with this path. Veronica pretty much told me the same story. Dave too." Benson noticed the confused expression on Don's face, and gave another little laugh. "Dave was an old friend of mine, and Veronica is my ex."

Don nodded, a little thankful for the explanations, though it still didn't give him much to go on. "So then," he thought aloud, "you're not straight, or gay, or anything like that? You're just… ummm…"

"Benson," the gumball machine finished Don's sentence, "I'm just Benson."

"Yeah, I guess you are," Don agreed with a grin. "Sorry to pry into your business like that, and sorry again for this morning."

"Again, Don, it's alright," Benson said, his mood shifting to slight annoyance. "What about you?" He asked, shifting the focus. "Why hasn't anybody come and snatched up our favorite raccoon accountant yet?"

"Work mostly," Don sighed. "Probably a little bit of shyness too. I can make friends really easy, no problem, but when it comes to actual romance – I have difficulty making the connection, in case you haven't noticed."

"I guess I didn't help matters," Benson said with a shrug.

"Hey, don't fret, Ben! I tried, and got turned down, but at least I can say I tried, right? I know it hurt a little bit, but I feel kind of good about it too. It means that, I tried at least, and that's something I can be proud of."

Benson agreed. The fact that Don at least tried to romance Benson a little bit was a step in the right direction. Don would probably find someone at some point in his life, just not at that moment. He would more than likely have to face a few more rejections, or failed relationships until he found his special someone. Benson did admit though, he enjoyed being the object of affection. It had been a while since that actually happened.

They were passing by the booths owned by the various caterers and observed all the wonderful treats that were being made.

"How about a churro?" Don asked Benson. "My treat!"

"Alright," the gumball machine replied, "but I'm paying for the slush drinks when we pass them." He put on a good face, and tried to enjoy his time with the sugar giving raccoon friend.

So Don stepped away toward the booth with all the Hispanic food, and ordered two cinnamon churros for the two of them. Benson stood there and waited, releasing a breath from his nose as he began thinking to himself. He actually was feeling a little better about the whole Veronica thing now.

_chZZZtt_

"Benson!" the radio at his side sparked. "Benson, you need to answer immediately!"

Mordecai's voice. Benson groaned, knowing something was definitely up. He snatched the walkie-talkie from his side and brought it close to his face. "What is it?" he asked unhappily.

"The info booth just collapsed."

"Collapsed? What did you two do to make it do that!"

"Nothing! It just collapsed on its own. And our booth isn't the only one that's done that."

"Excuse me!"

Something crashed right behind Benson, causing him to loop around and see the destruction first hand. A booth that specialized in chili came crashing down as the steel rods and tent cloth holding the place up gave way. Chili spilled everywhere, some splashing into patrons' eyes as they began to run around with spicy chili attacking their corneas.

Benson's gumballs went pale white as he watched the carnage unfold. Two more booths in the distance came down a few seconds afterwards. Then another and another. Like dominos, booths started falling left and right with no end to it in sight. Benson could feel his lower eye lid twitch in shock. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. There had to be a reasonable explanation for it. This couldn't be a coincidence.

"Hey you!" someone screamed past Benson. "These booths you provided us are crap!"

An angry chef pushes past the gumball machine and moves toward a very surprised and confused Don, sporting a churro in both hands.

"What seems to be the problem, sir?" Don asked with some confusion.

"That!" the chef screams as he points to his collapsed booth. "That is the problem I'm having! These booths that you've provided for us are death traps! You ruined my soufflé!"

"I'm sorry, sir," Don apologized nervously. "I was just providing what I was given."

"That's not an excuse!" A woman yelled from behind the raccoon. "It's your parks job to make sure that these booths are safe for me and my children."

"I'm sorry, Miss. Where are your kids? Are they hurt?"

"They haven't been born yet! I'm single and unmarried! How dare you rub the fact that I'm a lonely spinster in my face!"

"I wasn't Miss, I swear."

"Hey you there, coon!" screamed an angry old man. Don looked over to him, only to have his churros slapped right out of his hand as the old man approached him, before walking away just as quickly with a neutral expression on his face.

One after another, people began to surround Don, accusing him of all their misfortune. He did his best to try and convince them that he was not at fault, and that he was only doing his job, but the people wanted to hear nothing of it. They needed something to blame, and since the manufacturers of those booths weren't around, they just went after the next best person.

Benson couldn't stand it. These people were unjustly ganging up on Don, and it had to stop. The scared and confused look on the raccoon's face was enough evidence that this was spiraling out of control. He approached the crowd and tried to break them, screaming and yelling at each one individually if he had to. Unfortunately, not a single person listened and he was eventually pushed out of the group and on to his behind.

Don frowned when he saw his friend kicked around like nobodies business and couldn't stand that. The noise all around him was about to drive him insane. He couldn't think properly. Benson might have been right the whole time on this one: He may not have been ready for this kind of responsibility and work.

"Stop," he muttered clutching his eyes at the group. "I said stop! I'm trying to think!"

But no one would go silent. The complaining only got louder and louder as each person tried to out yell one another for the attention of the person they were mad at.

Don was nearly on the verge of tears when he finally took in a deep breath and screamed, "SHUT UP," as loud as he possibly could.

And then the world stopped.

And then the world grew quiet.

And then the world was simple again.

Don looked around himself. Everything was frozen. The people were caught in the middle of freeze frame that was the perfect picture of a mob uprising. Some were stuck with their mouths open, while others looked as though they were about to pull out pitchforks and torches. The scene itself was something both beautiful and terrifying in its sense. A bold sense of fear that captured the beauty of simple folks who cared only for themselves and the pain they could inflict on others – humanity in a nutshell.

The raccoon looked around himself, still stuck in the middle of the group. There, he saw Benson getting up, not frozen like the others.

"Benson," Don said as the fear festered in him, "what's going on?"

The gumball machine looked around himself, seeing the same still world that Don had seen. "I'm not sure," Benson replied. This was certainly something new.

A low chuckle suddenly voiced itself around them. It was only barely there, but it was very present. Benson bit down on his lip. He recognized that laugh before. It was the same hideous laugh that had nearly killed him a few weeks prior.

"Oh no," he whispered to himself.

"Little raccoooooooon," it hissed all around them. "Why can't you handle the pressuuuuuuuuuuure?"

"Don!" Benson yelled over it. "Get out of there right now! You need to get out of that crowd right now!" The gumball machine began to push the frozen citizens out of the way. They toppled like statues onto the ground.

"Hoooooooooooooow much dooooooooes it hurrrrrrrrrrrrt?" the voice continued to bemoan. "Yoouuuuuuuuuu can't doooooo anythiiiiiiiing right, caaaaaaaaaan you?"

"Don, for Quintel's sakes, get yourself out there! This thing isn't going to play games with you!"

"Theeeeeeeeeeey dooooooooon't like yooouuuuuuuuuu, he doesnnnnnnnnnn't liiiiiiiiiik you, the whoooooooooool worrrrrrrrrrrrld doesn't liiiiiiiiiik youuuuuuu. Whyyyyyyy even booooooooother?"

"DON!" Benson screamed. "ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME!"

But as Benson pushed the last screaming idiot aside, he saw what he shouldn't have. A thick black liquid had coiled around Don's feet, holding him in place as it began to slowly creep its way up his leg. Benson stepped back and tripped over one of the "statues", falling back to the ground. From there, he watched the disgusting ooze work its way up to the raccoon's waist and abdomen. Don tried to scream, but something in him was refusing it.

The blackness felt up to his shoulder, and then began to trickle down his arm, eventually finding his hand, and the still sore cut from earlier. The voice continued to cackle and hiss as small arms came out of its ooze. They all grabbed both sides of the closed and still healing cut, and pulled as hard as they could. The wound reopened, larger than before, tearing at flesh that was otherwise considered fine. His palm burned as muscle tissue grew exposed to the outside air. The voice gave one more cackle before the ooze began to crawl inside the cut, slithering in as fast as could until every strain has found its way inside. Then, it closed itself up and healed up in an instant.

"Now then," the voice continued, clear as day now. It spoke in Don's own voice, and only within his head. It sickened the raccoon. "Let's see what we can do with this body after we give it a little 'umph'."

Don's heart gave an audible beat, as his head filled with ethereal thoughts. His memories of past anger and depression that he once thought he forgot, surfaced again, attacking all of his emotions. His fingers began to sporadically move, his legs shook, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. In that short moment, he began to see things he had never seen before. These weren't his memories, suddenly: these were something else's. And just like that, his body stopped convulsing, his eyes returned forward, and he grew still.

And the world returned to motion.

The people were still screaming at the now in shock and catatonic raccoon, while others laid on the ground, wondering how it was they got down there.

Benson stood up and successful grabbed Don's hand, pulling him out of the center of the crowd and placing him away from the anger of the venders and park patrons. The gumball machine wasn't sure what it was that had just happened, but he could only deal with these situations one step at a time. The voice from earlier took top priority, but since they were no longer in that strange world, the crowd and Don's safety came second.

"Everyone SHUT UP!" Benson screamed. They did just that. He knew his voice was powerful enough to keep a crowd in check. "Now if you all have any problems going on with your booths, I suggest you take it up with the company that made the things. I'll be happy to provide contact information to them if you just give me some time."

The crowd's expression then suddenly changed. Many of their faces grew fearful of something, and began to step away, bumping into each other. Benson cocked his eyebrow and wondered what was going on. He turned around and looked at Don.

The tall raccoon was shaking like a mad man. His hands were clutched around his head as his knees began to buckle under the pressure. He fell to the ground, and onto all fours as his body continued to tremble. His breathing was loud and rapid.

"Don?" Benson knelt down. "Don, what's wrong?"

The whiteness in his eyes grew dark and black, surrounding everything except for the deep shade of brown in his iris. He twitched slightly and looked curiously at Benson. That kind and honest expression that he had always had was now gone, replaced with a feral yearning and need for everything. It looked at Benson as something it wanted, something that was up for the taking. He was so pretty and shiny, and all those playful little balls in his head? But those were just the tip of the iceberg. That scared and concerned look of affection the gumball machine had on his face at that moment… it was worrying about him. That was the sign he was looking for to confirm his suspicions about Benson.

Benson saw the untamed want in Don's eyes and knew he was no longer safe around the raccoon. He slowly reached down for the radio at his side, and quietly brought it up to his lips. He knew only one person could know how to handle this.

"Skips?" Benson whispered into the receiver.

"What is it Benson?" Skips actually snapped. "I'm in the middle of trying to fix some of these booths."

Don leaned over and sniffled at Benson, trying to get his scent just right. He smelled like metal and steel with a subtle sweetness to him. Don's mouth watered from lust at the prospect of his soon to be new possession. He didn't care if anyone else owned him, it was his right to take it, just like it was his right to take anything else he wanted without permission.

Benson remained knelt, growing silent as Don took in simple observations of the gumball machine.

"Benson?" Skips voiced through the walkie-talkie, sounding a little more concerned this time. "What's going on?"

Benson looked Don square in the eye. The raccoon smiled and screamed "MINE" before taking the man into his arms, and screaming at the onlookers. He let out a shriek that pierced the entire park, forcing some to plug their ears and others to temporarily leave a ringing.

The scream made its way all the way to Skips, who dropped what he was doing and stood up from the booth he was working on.

The radio in his hand hissed once more, as Benson's voice came forth from it screaming at the top of his lungs.

"HELP!"

Benson then dropped the walkie-talkie as he was being carried away.

**Home Again Garden Grove** – _The Mountain Goats_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

I loved writing this chapter. There's so much exposition, character development, character introductions, action, comedy, drama, just everything! It really wasn't supposed to be 9300 words though. The original draft was considerably shorter. Also, I know it seems like I talk about old drafts and such, but it just sort of surprises me when I go back after a few weeks and read through these chapters before submission. Kind of gives a sobering experience. Kind of the same way I go back and read early chapters of Triangles and cringe at the quality.

Also, as for Veronica: I know a lot of people in the Regular Show fandom are iffy about her, considering she was only in one storyboard, and is portrayed as... well, less than kind in fanfiction and fanart. All I can ask is that you bear with me on this. I have plans between her and Benson, and you will not be disappointed, I swear!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	9. Don  The Mediterranean Flower

**Chapter Nine**

**Don: The Mediterranean Flower**

With every footstep Don took, it left a wet black footprint in the grass. Just something else that told Benson that Don was being possessed by the creature they dealt with some time prior.

Benson struggled in the raccoon's grip, trying to escape him, but much like the creature he had to mess with that one time, his grip was iron clad. Unlike the monster's grip though, Don made sure not squeeze too tight and hurt him. There was a sense of possession that Don had for Benson at that moment that kept him from doing anything he might regret later. He showed it off to all those around him as he fled.

"Get away," Don snipped at all those he passed, "get away, he's mine!"

The various pedestrians and onlookers jumped out of fear as Don rammed and screamed at anything that got in his way. He looked desperately for somewhere to hide himself and Benson, and the perfect location came to him: the house of course! He increased his speed, knocking into more people, and causing more of a ruckus around the carnival. They didn't matter though. All that mattered was him and Benson.

It only took a few minutes before the house was within view and safety was only within a few more small leaps and bounds. He laughed joyously, squeezing a little tighter with the bundle in his arms. "Almost there, Benson!" he rambled. "Then it's just you and me! It'll be so much fun! Sugar, sugar, lots of sugar for you and me!" He continued to giggle, and ran swiftly toward the house.

His giggling was cut short as he was broadsided by a hulking white figure, losing his grip on Benson. Don was thrust to the side, catching the gumball machine by the shoulder using his mouth, and keeping him safe as they rolled along the ground. He jumped up a moment later, placed Benson back into his arms, and hissed at Skips.

The yeti looked riled up, his lips curved into an unhappy frown. He clenched his hands into a fist and began leaping towards Don in large skips.

"NO!" Don screamed. "HE'S NOT YOURS! HE BELONGS TO ME!"

Don leaped forward as well, ready to give Skips a piece of his mind.

The yeti knew that Don wasn't strong enough to overpower him. So once he got the raccoon on the ground again, he would pry Benson out of his grasp and pin the lunatic down until the right authorities got there.

Skips brought his fist up and slammed it into the raccoon's cheek. The raccoon stopped for a moment, and stared down the yeti with crosshairs. Skips' eyes grew wide as he began to realize his punch had no affect on the insane animal. This gave Don plenty of time to counteract with a swift head butt to the beast's temple. The force of it was incredible, knocking Skips to the ground and out cold.

Benson looked on with flabbergast. The strongest and wisest person he had ever met just got downed by something as simple as a head butt. Not only that, but it was by someone as peace loving and carefree as Don. The hope that he would be rescued had just slumped to the ground with his savior, and was replaced with a terrifying realization.

Don laughed at the loser and sped away back toward the house.

As he left, a black footprint jumped up and collected itself into a small rock sized mass of ooze that slowly made its way towards Skips. It stopped short of his head, and began to laugh and mock the yeti with as much ferocity as it could. It didn't see the fist come down upon it, splattering pieces of it everywhere.

Skips slowly lifted his head up, and gritted his teeth in anger. He knew what that thing was a part of, and let out an exasperated groan as he stood up. He looked beside himself and noticed Maellard and Tim approaching him.

"Skips!" the old man screamed as he approached. "What's going on here? There's people everywhere talking about booths falling over and Don going crazy?"

"It came back," the yeti muttered.

"It?" Maellard stood there in silence as he thought about what it could be. Then he remembered why it was he had a bodyguard now and hid behind him. "IT came back? I thought it was dead."

"Apparently not," Skips groaned. "I think it's possessing Don."

"It can do that!" Maellard fearfully asked. "What do we do?"

"I'll handle it." Skips turned away from them and made his way toward the house.

Maellard shivered as he thought about that black mass of god-knows-what getting its hands on him again. "Timothy! You are to stay by my side until that thing Skips is chasing after is dead! Do you understand me?"

The human sighed and rolled his eyes. His attention was focused on the yeti heading to the house, and he found the prospect of contributing to the battle to be quite enticing. However, he had a job to do, and the two didn't balance out. So he stuck next to Maellard. It was what he was getting paid for.

* * *

><p>"This place is just fine, just fine, just fine!" Don said as he closed the closet door. He had escaped into Mordecai and Rigby's room, and found the walk in closet they had to be extremely alluring. It was just the right amount of dark and secluded to be the perfect hiding place. No one would surely bother them there.<p>

Don finally dropped Benson, and click on the pull string light in the room. The small space was illuminated in a light glow that portrayed all the feral features of the raccoon. He knelt down on all fours and slowly sniffed at various t-shirts hanging up. The distinct and almost rotten smell of his brother became familiar to him and he smiled with a mischievous curve of the lips.

Benson took this moment of interest on the raccoon's part to slowly try and slip away. He made sure not to let his metal slide across the wood floor, and crawled as softly as he could until he was at the door. But the moment he grabbed the door knob, he was snatched away from it by Don's forceful arms.

"Where are you going, sugar-load?" Don asked him enthusiastically. "The only thing out there are scary people, too much work, and big numbers. It's much better in here. There's not as much addition and subtraction in here."

"What are you talking about Don?" the gumball machine complained. "This closet is only a few feet wide in diameter. There's barely enough space in here to keep one person from going stir crazy let alone one."

"We can manage though!" Don happily replied. "If we just give ourselves a little time, this can be our brand new home! You and me! It'll be great! And there's so much out in the park to scavenge for food, we'll never go hungry! And this closet has a bathroom out in the hallway too! I'll bet Pops and Rigbone, and Mordecai wouldn't mind if we use it every so often." His lower eyelid twitched suddenly and he began to sniff around the room some more.

"DON, are you even listening to yourself!" Benson screamed at him. "This is insane! You're not making any sense!"

"That's okay!" Don laughed. "You have plenty of sanity for the two of us. I'll just provide the sugar!" He held his grip on the gumball machine tighter, enjoying the cold metallic feel of the man. "You and I are gonna be so happy together!"

Benson continued to struggle in his grasp, hoping to some sort of deity that he could get out of there and run away like a maniac. Unfortunately, the more he struggled and shook, the more Don just held on tighter.

"I'm hungry!" Don announced. He put Benson down in the back of the closet and shushed the man. "I'll be back soon. Gonna go get some food! I'll make sure that no one can hurt you, promise!" He hopped out of the closet, and closed the door behind him.

Something sounded like it was being dragged along the ground outside. Benson jumped up and rushed toward the door, but as soon as he tried to push the door open, it was stuck shut. Don must have pushed something in front of the door to keep anyone from getting inside, or at least stopping Benson from getting out. Benson pushed and rammed at the door in hopes that whatever Don put there would topple over, but nothing budged.

"Oh you," Don giggled from the other side of the door. "I'll be back soon!" His footsteps scampered away a moment later.

Benson screamed and slammed his fists against the door. This seriously wasn't happening. A few weeks ago, he got dragged into a dark abyss with an awful monster, and today he was thrown into a closet by a savage love crazy raccoon being possessed by the same monster from that time a few weeks prior. If he survived this, he was seriously going to debate whether or not his employment was worth it. Who was he kidding though? He needed the job and the money.

Now what was he going to do? He was stuck there for the time being while he waited for someone to rescue him. Skips knew where there were going, so he wasn't too concerned. And Maellard couldn't possibly blame this on Benson, could he? No, this was the fault of that damned monster that they all thought was dead. How was it that it was still alive?

The last thing he remembered of that thing, it exploded all over the park after Skips impaled it with its own disgusting claws. And all the black water and ooze disappeared over time too. So where was the remnants? A thought crossed his mind on how it could possibly have survived, but he didn't like thinking it. If he was right, then that thing was still very much alive, and probably more dangerous than the last time. He might have to talk to Skips about that later.

Speaking of the yeti, where was he? Surely Don didn't knock him completely out. Skips wasn't the type of person to go down so easily. Skips probably had never dealt with anything like that before though. He didn't seem to enjoy the first beat down a few weeks back, so it probably wasn't fun for him to have to deal with it a second time. That is if he knew that Don was possessed by that black creature. If Skips did knew, then they might actually have the upper hand in all of this.

Another terrifying thought of Skips beating the raccoon to a bloody pulp crossed through the machine's mind. Skips wouldn't do something so horrible, would he? But if Skips didn't know about what was possessing Don...

Benson jumped up from seat and began to bang on the door again, screaming at the top of his lungs. "I'M IN HERE!" he yelled. But no one came.

"Where is everyone!" Benson asked himself. "They saw us come into the house! It doesn't take a science teacher to figure out where we went!" He slammed his fists against the door futilely and grunted in fury.

The waiting was killing him. He needed to know if anything was happening to Don. He needed to know what happened with Skips. He needed to know if that evil thing that had its grasps on Don was causing anymore damage. Was it controlling more people? Was it destroying the park, or the city even? What about Pops and the others?

"Let me out of here!" he screamed and banged on the door.

And his prayers were answered. The thing blocking the door was moved out of the way, and the door knob into the closet began to turn. Benson smiled as he awaited Skips or Maellard, or anyone's arrival.

"I'm back!" Don beamed, as he entered. He closed the door behind himself and dropped an arm full of prepackaged treats in front of Benson. "What do you think? Did I do good?"

Benson's hopes were shattered to pieces as fast as the snack cakes and chip bags bounced on the floor. He looked up at Don, and gave him a hollow smile. "Yeah, Don," he said grabbing a bag of chips, "you did real good."

Don gave him a great toothy grin and took up a snack cake as his reward. He tore into it with his teeth and inhaled the contents swiftly. As he chewed on his food, he scratched at his back at the terrible itchiness that poked at him.

Benson froze in place with a chip half in his mouth as he watched tranquilizer darts and flattened bullets fall from his back. He took in a breath from his nose, and snapped off the potato chip in his mouth. He hoped that the others outside were alright somehow. Otherwise, he would have to be a wife and change his last name to Don's. And while Benson didn't mind Don when he was sane, he would be damned if he had to share the same last name as Rigby.

* * *

><p>Tim grinded his teeth back and forth as he placed another bullet inside the magazine. "What is he, a zombie or something?" he said angrily, his voice cracking. "I unloaded a full magazine onto his backside and nothing seemed to work."<p>

"And we said not to shoot him!" Mordecai snapped at him. "That's Rigby's brother! You know that already! Why try to kill him?"

Tim gave the blue jay an angry look and pointed the gun magazine at the bird. "Because I'm doing what I was paid to do. If my employer is in danger, I react to protect."

"Mr. Maellard wasn't it danger!"

"Look at this place!" Tim screamed pointing all around him.

In the wake for Don's search for food, he left a path of destruction. Trails of dug up dirt and soil were scattered all over the park, while people tried to help each other as he pushed and mauled anyone who got in his way, and several policemen and animal control experts yelling at one another for not doing their job correctly. Pandemonium was too little of a word to describe such destruction.

"This place seems pretty damn dangerous to me," the bodyguard added.

"You haven't worked here as long as we have!" the blue jay exclaimed. "This is all normal! You weren't here for Susan, or Doug, or the Unicorns, or any of the other weird homicidal maniacs. We can handle this, we don't need you shooting that thing at our friends… no matter how cool it was to watch you use it."

"Oh, you like this, huh," Tim said as he pulled out his unloaded gun. "You can hold it if you want. I don't think it's loaded right now." He pulled back the chamber of the gun and caught the stray bullet still inside, before offering it to Mordecai.

"Sweet," Mordecai said taking it in hand and firing off a few imaginary rounds.

Tim smiled as he watched the bird inflict pain on a creature that wasn't there and didn't exist. It truly made his spirit sour to see such negligence for human safety in the name of good ole fashion fun. Then he remembered his friend, and looked down at the blue jay's feet. The raccoon was not happy, tapping his feet impatiently.

"And what about you, little guy?" Tim said in a demeaning voice as he knelt down. "Do you wanna hold Uncle Tim's firearm too?"

Rigby cringed and did his best to stare down the human. "I told you to aim for his legs."

Tim's expression wiped for a second before returning to an amused smile. He scratched the raccoon's head and let out a happy hum. "You're such a good brother, aren't you?"

"That would have slowed him down."

"Of course it would have," Tim mocked as he stood up. His attention shifted over to Skips who was busy trying to get inside the house. Black ooze came up from the ground ten or so feet into a wall, stopping the yeti from entering, no matter where he went or how hard he punched at it. "Always entertaining to watch," the human sighed.

Behind Tim, Maellard clamped his cellphone shut, and approached the group. "Alright then, I've gotten everything taken care of. My lawyers are already going after the company that rents out the supplies to make those booths, so they should be liquidated within the next three days or so. As for Don…" Maellard watched Skips continue to try and find a way inside the house. This prompted the lolliman to shake his head in disappointment. "It's very sad as to what's happened to him. You did the right thing to try and put him down, Tim."

The bodyguard shrugged. "I was just doing what you pay me to do."

"Nonsense! You were looking out for the park and its patrons, and for that you should be commended. Remind me to give you a raise when we leave here."

"Can do, sir," Tim answered. "For now though, let's just watch Mr. Skips do his best to bust inside the house. He doesn't seem to be making much progress."

"Hmm, yes… quite," Maellard agreed as he and Tim sat on the ground and watched Skips do everything in his power to get past the remnants of the black ooze creature.

He was starting to get at the end of his ropes. He had been working on trying to get inside for a good fifteen minutes, and this thing wouldn't let him. Every so often it would open an eye in its dripping self and give out an amused laugh. Skips made sure to sock the eye a few times when this happened, though it didn't do much but open hundreds of eyes everywhere else and continue to echo its laughter.

"Yooooooouuuuuuu caaaaaaan'ttttttttt geeeeeet iiiiiiiiinnnnnnn!" it teased in a sing song voice.

Skips let out howling rage, and began to skip away from the house. He passed by the group who didn't take much mind to him, save for Maellard and Tim, who were wondering what Skips was planning next. Maellard's expression turned from inquisitive to condemnation as he stood up and found Skips dragging his limousine through the park.

"Skips! What are you thinking!" the old man yelled.

Skips refused to answer and pulled the car along until it was right in front of the house. The black wall came back up as well as the eyes. They went large when they saw the white stretched luxury vehicle the yeti had acquired, and the smug grin Skips had on his face. He took the limo into his hands, and slowly used all of his strength to lift it up. And while Skips was a stronger man than any of them, this was pushing his limits. If he held the limo above him for more than just a few short seconds, he would have been crushed under its own weight. With all the muscle in his body aching and pulsing to release the cause of pain, he threw the limo right into the black wall...

…in which the wall descended and let the limo slam into front porch, taking out the steps and beams supporting the roof over it. It came down onto the porch, destroying anything on it. The wall came right back up and continued to laugh, harder than before.

"Whoops," Skips said, underestimating his enemy.

He looked at Maellard who was now looking like a frozen model in a slasher film. His face was contorted into some sort of ethereal scream as if someone was about to pull a knife on him.

Tim was still on the ground though, laughing his butt off at the whole situation. He clapped his hands together and repeatedly yelled, "Bravo! Bravo! Encore!"

Even Mordecai and Rigby had pulled themselves away from playing with Tim's gun to look on in horror at the destruction Skips had just inadvertently caused.

The yeti grew sick of this and walked over to them, where he picked up Rigby and looked him in the eye. "Go tell your brother to come downstairs. He and I need to have a talk."

"Dude, what are you talking about?" Rigby asked, a little concerned for himself. "I don't want to go talk to Don. He's cray cray right now! Plus, if you can't get inside, what are the chances that I will?"

"Pretty good," Skips said, before he leaned back and chucked the raccoon toward the upstairs window of house with whatever strength he had left. Rigby went screaming through the window right into his bedroom.

"Rigby!" Mordecai yelled, dropping the gun onto the ground.

Tim quickly collected it and placed it back into his holster. He looked up at Skips and clicked his tongue. "Wasn't that just a bit much, Mr. Skips?"

"Shut up."

* * *

><p>The crash of glass and something rolling into the room caught both Don and Benson's attention while they were in the middle of their snacks. Don's eyes slit and he grew cautious of the intruder outside. He wasn't afraid to attack if that meant protecting himself and Benson. And to protect his belonging, he would rip whoever it was apart, limb from limb.<p>

"Stay here…" he muttered to the gumball machine.

"Do I have a choice?" Benson said to himself as he ate another chip.

Don cracked the door open slightly, and took a whiff of the air around him. Something smelled odd. It was something he had smelled before; smelled earlier in fact. He flung the door open and grew positively giddy at the site of his barely conscious brother on the floor of the bedroom. "Rigbone!" he yelled, leaping forward and taking the small raccoon into his arms. He looked around the room nervously for signs of any predators, and brought his family into the closet, and shut the door tight again.

"Look Benson!" Don announced. "We have a visitor! And it's my favorite visitor ever!" He gave Rigby copious amounts of sugar, nuzzling his nose against his brother's cheek, and getting a good sniff of his scent. He never realized until then, but he liked his brother's musk. True, it was a little putrid and bland, but it reminded him of his childhood and the days growing up with his family.

The eldest raccoon only let out a few little grunts as he did his best to try and come back into full consciousness. All he knew was that he was being hugged by someone and that Benson was looking across from him with his hands folded and his eyes in disbelief.

"Welcome to the party," Benson sarcastically greeted. "Grab a snack and join in."

"It is a party now that Rigbone is here!" Don happily said. "He's always full of energy and lots of fun! Though…" Don took another look outside and looked around the bedroom. "I wonder where Mordecai is? Did you two have a fight?"

Rigby grunted a bit more as his head slowly began to clear.

"Friends shouldn't fight!" Don continued. "Friends should always get along and have lots of fun! Like what Benson and I are doing now!" He leaned in close to Rigby's ear and whispered into it: "Though, between you and me, I think Benson wants to take our friendship one step further. What do you think?"

"Don?" Rigby moaned. "Benson? Wha…?"

"That's exactly what I think!"

In the background, Benson slapped his palm against his forehead. He didn't know why it was that Rigby was there, nor did he honestly want to know. If they were sending people in to save him, why send the least helpful of the group up first. Why not just send Skips and be done with it?

Don gasped as he noticed something along Rigby's arm. "Oh my gosh! You're bleeding, Rigbone! How did that happen?"

No doubt it was probably from that crash, Benson automatically assumed. He was surprised to see Rigby with as little damage as it was, considering he just crashed through a window.

Don quickly bent down and gave the wound a few licks, cleaning up the blood and hoping it would disinfect the wound.

The feeling of his brother's tongue on him brought Rigby back into reality completely. He looked at his arm and saw the tall raccoon licking at him, and pushed Don's face out of his arm. "DUDE, SICK!" he screamed.

"Bro, hold still," Don complained, "I'm trying to make your wound all better!"

"I don't need your tongue all over my body!" Rigby yelled. "Let go of me!"

"Oh, bro. I'm just trying to be a good little brother is all. You'll thank me later."

"No I won't! Quit trying to give me your sugar and honey, and all that other Q crap! I don't want it" Rigby continued to yell.

Benson shook his head and sighed. He wasn't sure if this was supposed to be entertaining or just a sad site to behold. "Rigby, what are you doing here?" he finally asked.

"I don't know!" Rigby struggled to say, against Don's clutches. "Skips wanted me to tell you all to come down stairs or something like that."

"You hear that Don?" Benson asked the tallest raccoon. "We should probably listen to your brother and head on downstairs, don't you think?"

"Nope!" Don smirked. "They just wanna take you and Rigbone away from me. Then they'll put me in the garbage and make me live at the dump!"

Rigby gave a puzzled look to Benson, who just nodded and shrugged.

"Most of what Don's said hasn't made much sense since I've been in here," Benson told him.

Rigby looked into his brother's eyes and saw the darkness and insanity in them, and knew he wanted to get as far as from his brother as he possibly could. Unfortunately, Don's grip on him was far too powerful.

"It's made perfect sense!" Don defended. "You just have to listen closely to what I'm trying to say."

"No, that won't work," Rigby complained.

"For once we agree," Benson sighed.

Don looked at his brother and his possession and noticed the frowning expressions on their faces. That wouldn't do at all. He had to make them happy somehow. "How about some extra sugar!" He lashed out at Benson and took him into chest, bringing the three of them into a nonconsensual group hug. "Now this is much better."

"THIS IS WORSE!" Rigby screamed in horror as he was pushed uncomfortable close to his boss. "THIS IS MUCH WORSE!"

"Let us go, Don!" Benson yelled at him. "This is uncomfortable and mentally scarring."

"I can't see my hands right now," Rigby said. "What is it I'm feeling at right now."

"That would be the inside of my flap," Benson replied with a distressing blush.

Rigby let out as loud a scream as he could, struggling the hardest he ever had before. "Someone get me out of here!"

And then, the door opened up, and the afternoon light came flooding in. Benson and Rigby smiled as their salvation stood in the doorway. Skips stood there with a bit of aggravation painted on his face.

"How did you get in here!" Rigby asked enthusiastically.

Don didn't let him answer though. He hiss at the white beast and threw the two in his arms to the back of the closet, before pouncing forward at Skips and sending the two of them across the room, and through the already broken and open window.

Benson quickly ran to the window, only to find several ladders taped together stretching long from the ground to the window. He looked directly below him and the black walls observing the fight that was now happening on the park grounds. The wall laughed and giggled at the new brawl that had just broken out in front of it.

"UGH!" Rigby yelled from behind Benson. "I need a shower to get all this Don spit off me. That was so sick, I can't even begin to think why he'd do that. You're not going to tell Mordecai, right?"

But Benson wasn't listening. He was too busy watching Skips and Don wrestle each other to the ground, only to watch the other vault back up. The gumball machine climbed out the window and slowly made his way down the three ladders that were merged together. He had a better view of the excitement when he finally touched the grass again.

Skips delivered a crushing blow into the raccoons stomach, but Don countered the yeti with a bite to his shoulder. Thankfully, Skips was already caught up with his tetanus vaccinations. But that didn't stop the raccoon's teeth from penetrating his flesh. Skips kicked him off, and rubbed the slowly bloody wound.

He really didn't want to fight Don, but he had to put him down. He was too much of a threat to everyone in the park, and needed to be removed somehow. So if that meant knocking a few fangs out of his mouth, then so be it.

The yeti rushed forward, ramming into Don with his good shoulder, and pinning him against a tree. Once the young man was confused, Skips began to pummel into his face with one fist after another. He expected blood and teeth to come flying out at that very moment of contact, but nothing seemed to do the trick. In fact, anything that Skips tried to do to him just seemed to cause little no damage what so ever.

Don smiled maniacally and kneed Skips between his legs, hitting an area that brought the man down for a few seconds. It was enough time for Don to seize him by the neck and choke him a little bit, just to get the breath out of him, before throwing him toward the house. The black wall caught him. Familiar knife like hands appeared and impaling the yeti in place.

This gave Don the advantage now, mimicking the same one two punch combo that Skips just gave him against the tree. Combined with the constant stabs of the knife hand's fingers into his arms, it was a painful experience for the yeti.

Don gave out a giddy laugh as he beat Skips to a bloody pulp. At least until he felt some pressure in his legs. He looked down and found some bullets flattened into his legs and turned angrily to find the culprit.

"I knew your friend's idea wouldn't work," Tim moaned as he pulled his gun away.

Don let out a shriek that broke every window in the house.

"Dude, Don! Calm down!" Mordecai pleaded. "We only want to make sure you don't hurt anybody else. Look what your doing to Skips!"

"SHUT UP!" Don screamed at him. "I like what I'm doing to Skips! He deserves it! It running through my veins, telling me to end his life right here and now! He wants to take everything away from me! He tried to take Benson and Rigbone too!"

"No he's not," Mordecai continued. "He's just trying to help!"

"NO HE'S NOT!" Don said in fury. "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!"

He brought his fist up and began to repeatedly punch at the yeti's face until he heard a distinct crack and the skin tone around the area change to a disgustingly bruised black. Blood trickled out of the yeti's broken nose as he tried his best to stay conscious.

The hands stabbed into the yeti released themselves, and he fell forward into Don's arms. The raccoon's evil smile spread further as he looked at the destruction he caused on his friend's face. "You can't have Benson, or Rigby, or anyone else for that matter. You won't be taking anything away from anyone anymore…" He brought his fist up, and began to laugh. "You can't have anyone, 'cause I said so!"

A curl of black sludge appeared around the raccoon, forming itself into long strands with the ends turning into bladed tips, hooks, hammers, scythes, and tridents. Don's expression was unearthly. It was a face that would have made a devil cry out in fear. He let out one more yelp of laughter and let the blackened weapons come down upon the yeti.

But they stopped...

They stopped...

No more then...

Half...

An...

Inch...

Away...

"What?" Don whispered. "Why did they stop?" He looked at the bladed liquid, each and everyone of them. That had stopped so close to the yeti's face, that if Skips had moved any further, he was sure to be impaled by something. Don took that into consideration, and tried to shove Skips into them. But the weapons only moved away from him, letting him fall to the ground.

"Why?" Don asked the monster. "Why can't you kill him?"

The wall stared at the raccoon intently, and one by one, began to close each and every one of it's eyes. Only one remained open, and it held nothing but fury within it.

But Don's confusion was cut short, as Benson rushed at him, and rammed his body against the raccoon, knocking him completely off his feet.

The black wall didn't like this one bit, and sent out a few more of its knife hands to attack the gumball machine. They smacked right into his head… and caused no damage. The only remaining eye went wide as it found not even a scratch had been made. Benson grinned through all of this. He wasn't going to let this thing repeat what it did to him the last time. But it was going to have the same outcome for it.

Skips, sensing an opportunity, picked himself up from the ground, grabbed at one of the things arms, and snapped it off like last time. Only now, he curled the hand into a fist and rushed at Don.

The raccoon saw the fist and tried to move out of the way, but was hit with it head on right across the cheek with as much strength as Skips could muster. He went rolling along the ground then, and toppled onto his stomach. He tried to pick himself up, but grabbed at his belly when he was only one knee up. An ocean of black sludge wretched out of his throat and onto the ground, slithering into the earth as it touched the park floor. When it had emptied itself out of Don's system, the raccoon's eyes rolled back, and he fell to the ground completely unconscious.

Skips quickly unfolded the first and straightened the fingers out before throwing the sharp end toward the wall. But the wall was already gone by then. Back into the park from which it came.

When the danger had fled, Skips too fell to the ground.

* * *

><p>Don happily went with the men in the white coats with no restraint. He was completely aware of what had happened to him and the things he did while under the influence of what he called "Bad News". And while nobody liked that name to describe what it was they were dealing with, it was either that or Rigby's suggestion as "The Righteous Black Beast of the Park". That was too much of a mouthful, so they stuck with Don's suggestion, considering Skips had also called it that the first time it attacked.<p>

"We'll visit you at the hospital as soon as we get things straightened out here," Benson said to the recovering raccoon.

"I promise I'll make it up to Benson," Don rasped out. "I'm sorry about what happened. I didn't mean to…"

"Let it go, Don. It's water under the bridge for now. You go rest up, okay?"

Don nodded. It was all he needed to hear. He saw concerned looks on everyone's faces, save for Rigby and Tim, but knew somewhere inside them was worry for him. He waved goodbye to everyone as they drove him away to the hospital, where he would have a few days stay at the psych ward. They promised him if he was good while he was there, he might even go home in a week, considering his insanity came from an outside source.

As the paddy wagon drove off, both Benson and Skips(with an ice pack to his bandaged and readjusted nose) turned to Maellard.

"You need to shut the park down for a while," Benson said to him, "just for a couple of days at the least."

"And why is that?" Maellard asked. "I'm aware that this place needs some renovations due to the recent events, but I hardly think it'll take more than a day to-"

"It's not about that," Skips chimed in, "but more about the thing that was just here. You saw it go into the ground. I'm pretty sure it's all over the park. I can take care of it, but it's going to take a few days for me to get everything together and perform the ritual."

"Ritual?" Maellard laughed. "There's a ritual?"

"A purifying one."

Even Benson wasn't expecting a ritual, but if it meant that things would get back to normal sooner without the threat of Bad News coming back, it was fine with him. And while Maellard wasn't convinced completely, he remembered that thing wanted his throat specifically the last time, so he agreed to it.

"Fine then," Maellard said, "everyone vacate the park by the end of the day. I'll close the park for the next two weeks until we can get things settled out. Is that enough time, Skips?"

"More than enough," the yeti answered.

"Good then. I will alert the media. Come Tim!"

He tapped his cane into the ground, instructing Tim to hurry up. A black ooze began to ascend his cane, holding it in place in the grassy floor. Maellard jumped back as a small hand slashed out at him and missed. Tim quickly rushed forward and gave the cane a punt, forcing it out of the ground and causing it to fly a couple of feet.

"I'm still getting that raise, right?" Tim said with a smirk.

"Of course you are my boy," Maellard sighed with relief. "We can discuss it as we run as fast as we can out of the park."

The two then dashed away without another word.

Benson shook his head and cupped his hands to his mouth. "Make sure you call Martin about taking care of Don." He may not have liked Dr. Ploddevize, but the man knew what he was doing for the most part.

"Hey wait!" Mordecai screamed. "Where are we supposed to go if we can't stay in the park house?"

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Benson said to him, as well as the rest of the group. "I'm going home. I need a break and a drink."

The gumball machine said nothing after that, choosing to slowly make his way out of the park. A few random patrons were still there, cleaning themselves up and collecting what they needed to take back to their businesses and homes. The Coffee Shop girls were off in the distance, picking up anything that could salvage. Margaret saw Benson walking home and gave him a wave. Eileen followed suit when she saw him a second later.

Veronica however, simply gave him a shrug and giggled.

As it turned out, this day was pretty much what Benson had been expecting the whole time. Another day, another unusual circumstance. Time to head home.

**The Mediterranean Flower (Chill Mix) – **_Sunlounger_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Well, that chapter went by pretty smoothly. I kind of wanted it to be longer, but I couldn't think of a way to extend it anymore than I could. And I know the wrap up was pretty quick and all, but again, I couldn't think of a way to expand on it, even after rereading it a few times. Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed this nice little action chapter. Crazy Don was fun to write, that much was for sure.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	10. Ritual Dance

**Chapter Ten**

**Ritual Dance**

"Alright, everyone settle down," Benson announced to his coworkers.

Veronica laughed satirically as she slammed a coffee mug down in front of her ex-lover. "Yes, yes, everyone! Let's calm down and listen to the man who can help run a park but can't keep an evil monster from possessing a little gay boy and destroying half the surrounding area?" She smiled and looked around the Coffee House with satisfaction on her face. "How's that relationship with you hand going, by the way?"

The park staff all sat in a single booth with shock on their face, even Muscle Man who relished at people getting told off. Perhaps it had something to do with him having issues with his own woman off and on, but it just wasn't funny. Rigby cracked a smile at first, but upon thinking about it at length, saw that comment as an insult that even Benson didn't deserved. Maellard even found that to be crossing the line, but didn't dare defend the gumball machine. The booth remained quiet with mouths agape, and eyes wide in surprise.

"Veronica!" Margaret yelled, emerging from the counter. "You're being rude to our customers! If I hear that again-"

"No, Miss Margaret," Veronica jeered, "I'm not being rude. I'm only telling the truth. What's rude is the horrible little song and dance you put all your potential lovers through."

Margaret was taken back by that statement, only to reaffirm herself by taking an angry step forward and snapping her beak.

"Did that hurt?" Veronica quipped. "So sorry. I'm afraid I'm not having the most pleasant of days."

"Veronica!" Eileen screamed as she too came from behind the counter. "The mugs are piling up in the back. They need washing!"

The female gumball machine gave Eileen a tired expression, but smiled through it. "That's fine then. I'd rather take orders from you, Eileen, instead of this mess here." As she made her way to the kitchen, she bumped into Margaret and winked at her. No one said anything until she was completely out of the room.

The red robin breathed heavily as she looked in the direction where Veronica had gone. The glint in her eyes told anyone that at any moment she could spin into a tizzy of anger and frustration. The group could swear that her feathers were turning the same discolored and furious shade of purple that Benson so often shifted into.

Mordecai, above everyone else, could sense the hurt and turmoil in his crushes soul. Veronica seemed like a cruel woman, and had no right to attack Benson or Margaret. The blue jay felt bad for the two of them, Margaret specifically.

"Hey Margaret," he sputtered.

"NOT… NOW!" the girl screamed at him.

This caught the attention of everyone in the shop, including those outside of it even. A low laugh could be heard in the backroom, fading away like white noise.

Eileen frowned sympathetically at her friend and shook her head. "Margaret, take a break."

A break sounded wonderful to Margaret actually. She quickly removed the dirty café apron and tossed it over to Eileen, who caught it, and set it behind the counter. The red feathered woman then turned around, went up the steps, and right out the door – grumbling incoherent curses as she did.

Everyone watched her leave, and then looked over at Mordecai. He had a slight bit of embarrassment on his face, as well as regret. He slid down his seat some and hoped everyone would stop staring at him. Rigby took a sip of his coffee and patted his friend on the shoulder.

"Your old fling's a bitch, Mr. Benson," Tim said, breaking the silence. "I like her!"

"I could use someone like that when dealing with hostile takeovers," Maellard added.

"Seriously Benson, why did you date someone like that?" Skips asked.

Benson grumbled. "She was a lot more fun when we were actually dating; a lot nicer too. Then she just… started acting different. Don't know how it happened." He began to tap his fingers on the table repeatedly. "Maybe it was me."

Me…

Me…

Me…

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"I can't get this tuning right," Benson whined. He slid tip his thumb along the strings of his guitar and studied the sound.

"It sound's alright to me, Chiclet," Veronica said as she turned the page of her book. The sounds of a soft guitar always seemed to work well with a romance novel. Unfortunately for her, when it was out of tune and was nothing but random strums, it tended to break the mood she tried desperately to fall into.

He sends his thumb along the strings again and shakes his head. "It sounds great, yes – but it doesn't sound perfect. I can't write the perfect song if I don't have the perfect sound."

"Why not just use your drum set?" she asked. "Music is music, isn't it?"

Benson laughed and pushed the brown strings of hair out of his face. "It goes further than that, babe. Each instrument has its own sound and voice! I can't make a song dedicated to you using something as forceful and powerful as a drum song. I gotta use something that expresses my feelings for you. Something soft and loving, like a guitar."

The girl smiles and closes her book, placing it on the bed she was laying on. "But can't a guitar be just as loud and enforcing as a drum though?"

"It can be, yes."

"Well then, why can't a drum set be as soft and loving and a guitar?"

"It just doesn't work that way babe," Benson continued. "I don't see you as something loud and in the background. You deserve the center stage. Can you tell me what instrument usually gets the center stage?"

The girl smiles at her boyfriend, enjoying the conversation. "Most of the time it's the vocals. But I guess you're trying to tell me that most people are interested in a guitar than a set of drums."

"Vocals are nice," Benson admitted, "but they're nothing without an accompanying sound of course. I mean, all those rock ballads wouldn't be the same without a lead guitar and a bass. Drums really add to it as well."

"You know there are a lot of people out there who would argue that vocals can stand on their own pretty well," Veronica argued playfully.

"Well then those people don't know music," Benson snapped.

"Or maybe you just haven't come to fully understand it yet," Veronica sneered.

The two glared at each other with a lovers stare.

Benson smiled and shook his head. "Maybe you're right," he said in defeat. "What am I saying? I know you're right. Maybe I should try making you something with the drums then."

"Maybe you should," she agreed. "Whatever instrument you use, I'm sure it'll be absolutely wonderful. I'll love it no matter how it sounds."

Benson's smile widens as he listens to his girlfriend's loving words. He looks at his guitar and sighs, placing it on the hard wood ground next to him, and crawling over to the small twin sized bed they shared. A guitar and a bed: the only two possessions that they owned. It was all they needed besides each other. All those and a library card for Veronica to keep herself from going crazy with boredom.

He wrapped his arms around her and brought her close. She cooed comfortably into his grasp and kissed his cheek lovingly.

"Do you know what you do to me sometimes?" Benson asked. His fingers walked along shoulder quietly as the two looked into each others eyes.

"The same thing you do to me I'm sure," she replied with wink. Her hand grazed along his side, sending little shivers along his body.

"Does that mean you're gonna write a song about me then?" Benson asked with a raised eye brow.

The girl laid there and thought about it. She didn't have any musical talent of any sort like Benson had, nor did she have a voice soothing enough to sing him a lullaby. But what she did have was wit and charisma. "Maybe I'll write one, but that doesn't mean I'm going to perform it."

Benson laughed and brushed some of the blonde locks out of her face. He gently rubbed the glass on her dome and slowly leaned in to kiss her.

They fell into each other's lust, keeping their hands busy across the other's body while their mouths opened and closed with a slowly rising passion for one another. She laughed and moaned as his mouth kissed at her cheek, and gradual made its way down to her neck, and then onto her metallic body. She happily moaned out his name as he began to lick at the risen metal door between her legs. His hands turned and poked at her crank, eliciting the appropriate reaction of moans and pants of euphoria.

Benson was happy with this. The two of them didn't need much to get by. As long as he had her and his guitar, then life was wonderful. He closed his eyes and listened to the music that flowed from her gasps.

.

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Benson sighed and held his flap closed as the memories rushed back to him. He shouldn't be thinking those type of things, especially around his coworkers. None of them would let him live it down if they saw him getting excited over a moment of lust from his past, let alone from the woman who just out and out ridiculed him a moment earlier.

"Hey guys," he continued from earlier, "do you mind if we change the subject? She and I are kind of a mix of good and bad memories for me."

None of them seemed to mind, save for Mordecai and Rigby who were at least a little interested in why Benson would fall for a dragon like that. Skips shut them up though.

"We should probably talk about why we're here," the yeti said, after shushing the two boys.

"Good idea," Benson replied. He took a clipboard he had brought with him and looked at the things that needed discussing. The list wasn't that long, as they really couldn't do that much while Skips was purifying the grounds, which brought him to his first bullet point. "As you all know, after the problems we had with the fundraiser a few days ago, Skips is having to work hard to clean the place up of Bad News."

Rigby mumbled something inaudible about how his name was better, which was silenced by Mordecai punching him in the shoulder.

"How's that going by the way, Skips?" the blue jay followed up.

"I've got about 40% of the park done so far," Skips answered. "If I work without rest, I should be able to finish sometime before the end of the week."

"And if you do rest?" Benson asked.

"Then probably sometimes around the start of next week."

Maellard tapped his cane against the table, trying to gather attention. "I expect this to be done as soon as possible. I don't need any of that Bad News coming to get me every time I visit the park."

"It's being taken care of," Skips sighed. He didn't like doing the ritual, as it only encompassed a small area and he had to repeat it over and over and over until the whole place was purified of the putrid black ooze. It wasn't hard; just annoying.

"Which brings me to my main point," Benson continued. "If Don's any indication, then that stuff doesn't just affect the park – it affects living things too. And almost all of us were covered in that gunk the first time when it exploded. Everyone who was at the park was covered in it."

"Tell me about it," Tim laughed. "What do you plan to do?"

"Well, Skips is going to perform the ritual here for all of us, so that should take care of any lingering pieces of it that may have decided to attach itself to us."

Skips groaned at having to do that damned ritual again. It was for his friends though, so he could suffer through it. "I'm just warning all of you, once I finish with it, you're gonna get real messed up with that stuff trying to leave your body. Mine bled out – hurt pretty bad."

Benson nodded in agreement. "Skips already performed it on me yesterday when I was visiting. Mine came out through my fingers… and it hurt. It really pissed me off. You should see the damage I did to my Skips' shack during the ritual."

The group gulped.

"I've already gotten permission from Eileen to go ahead and do it today in the Coffee Shop, so Rigby, you're up first."

"WHAT!" Rigby moaned. "I wasn't anywhere near that thing when it blew its mess all over the park. Why do I have to get the ritual?"

"Because you were close to Don when he was possessed, and I don't want to take any chances," Benson argued. "Now get out there and get your self purified!"

Rigby groaned and jumped out of the booth. Skips was already up and pointed to a small empty kiddy pool he had brought with him and inflated. Rigby stepped aside and waited.

The yeti pulled out a rain stick he had brought with him from his shack, and began to dance around the pool, chanting some unknown lyrics in some unknown language. Any other customers in the shop looked on in total fascination as Skips jumped around the pool with enthusiasm and commitment. He slammed the stick onto the ground and looked at Rigby.

The entire room, including Eileen behind the counter, stared at Rigby and wondered what would happen. He suddenly didn't like the attention.

"Why are you all staring at me?" Rigby complained. "Quit doing that! I don't like it! Stop staring at me!" The raccoon began to rub at his eyes and whimper. Eileen quickly rushed to his side, but was stopped short by Skips.

"Dude, are you crying?" Mordecai asked.

Sure enough, Rigby's tears were coming down like a waterfall. They were pitch black and stained his fur. He dropped to a sitting position in the pool and cried in both distress and extreme pain as an unusual amount of tears poured out of his eyes.

"The ritual can cause emotional flare ups when used on actual people," Skips said. "It's temporary though."

"How temporary is temporary?" Mordecai asked as accompanied Eileen next to his friend.

"Probably about a day."

"You mean I have to deal with crybaby Rigby for the next day?"

Muscle Man laughed from the booth with High Five Ghost. "How is it any different from regular loser Rigby?"

"Listen dudes," Mordecai continued, "Don's letting us use his place to crash until the parks up and running again. Every room in that house echoes. I don't want to have to deal with that and crybaby Rigby for the next 24-hours."

"Deal with it," Benson said.

A few moments later, Rigby was clean, with fresh salt water tears streaming down his face. Mordecai was happy that he was exempt from having to do the ritual (along with High Five Ghost), but he believed out of all of them that he got the raw end of the deal. Rigby sat in his lap, crying into Mordecai's blue feathered chest, while Eileen passed by every so often to give the raccoon a pet on the back. And while Rigby would later admit he hated the attention, he secretly loved it, even from Eileen.

Pops was up next, in which his came out as a sort of nose bleed that, while it still hurt, was very ticklish too, causing him to laugh the whole time. When the ritual ended, he was bursting with energy and started talking and playing with everyone in the shop.

Muscle Man's came out through his hair and actually stained his once proud dirty brown, a raven black. He panicked. He panicked so much in fact, he ran out of the Coffee Shop screaming towards the closest hair dresser he could find. HFG followed after him with worry, but with some slight amusement too.

Maellard actually played dead for a while, which alarmed every one of them thinking that the ritual had killed him. It didn't, but the ooze did come out of his spine, which essentially paralyzed him for the good part of a half hour. Tim took him, and dropped him back in the booth until he could move again. Maellard stayed silent and incredibly afraid the rest of the time there.

Tim was up next. Everyone found his to be the most entertaining of the bunch.

"You stupid little endangered fuck!" Tim screamed as loud as he could. A wave of nausea crept over him and he wretched the black sludge out of his system like a jet stream. When his mouth was clear, he looked back up to Skips and continued his rant. "I oughta snap your neck right now and drink the marrow for putting all of us through this." Another wave of ooze poured out of his mouth into the kiddy pool. "Do you have any idea how much this hurts and how much I want to pull out my pistol and riddle your tiny skull until there's nothing left?" Another flush of blackness.

It was a disgusting, albeit surprising comical show. When Tim was finished, he wiped his mouth, weakly collected the still terrified Maellard, and slumped out of the Coffee Shop very slowly with a loud and raspy "fuck you" as he exited. The café roared with laughter and applause at the show that just went on in front of them. Skips even gave a grin and a bow.

With that out of the way, Skips pulled out a match, struck it ablaze, and dropped it into the kiddy pool. A roar of fire erupted from the pool, evaporating itself as screams and moans gave way and disappeared. The pool then sprung a leak and deflated. Nothing remained inside of it. Skips took the deflated pool in hand and chucked it into the trash.

"Well," Benson sighed, "that takes care of us. Now we gotta worry about the other 200+ people who got infected with that crap."

Skips shuddered at having to perform that ritual again and again and again. But it was his job at the moment.

Benson then produced a few papers and placed them on the table. "Mordecai and Rigby, these are for you. They're sheets with the names of everyone who was at the park when they thing went off the first time. I need you guys to call each and every one of them and schedule an appointment for Skips to perform the ritual."

Mordecai groaned at the busy work, and looked at the paper. "There has to be at least fifty people per page on here. You want us to do all of this by tonight."

Benson shook his head and placed his clipboard down. "I just need you guys to get it down before the end of tomorrow. And some of those papers are going to Muscle Man, High Five Ghost, and Pops too, so you won't need to worry about the work load being so large. After you finish with that, you guys can have the next few days off until Skips finishes."

"And what about you?" the bird asked. "Don't you have to do any of this?"

Benson gripped at his clipboard and took a deep and worrisome breath. "Maellard has me doing something much worse."

"Really?" Eileen asked walking by with a tray of empty mugs. "What does he have you doing?"

Benson grunted and laid back in his seat. He looked at Skips, who already knew exactly what Maellard had planned for him. He gave him a sad look and returned to cleaning up the ritual area.

The gumball machine then straightened up and took a sip of his drink. "He wants me to go on the news and explain what happened at the fundraiser… tonight."

"That doesn't seem so bad," the mole said. "I bet it'll be pretty fun to on TV!"

"Yeah…," Benson groaned, "except, he wants me to appear on the Nine O'Clock Info Hour with Connor Wong."

Everyone around him went silent. The customers nearby who had heard brought their mugs down from their mouths. Eileen nearly dropped the mugs, and even Mordecai and Rigby were surprised by the assignment Benson was given.

The entrance to the Coffee Shop chimed, and Margaret came in refreshed and in high spirits. She looked down from the railing and asked, "What did I miss?"

The ghost like expression on Benson's face said it all.

**Ritual Dance - **_Kaki King_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Not much to say about this one. Much shorter compared to the last couple of chapters, which is kind of a break for me. Though, I wouldn't have minded adding more. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything else to add, even in regard to the future chapters. At this point, by the way, I've written up to chapter twenty-six. Not much else to say beyond that. This does lead us up to our next arc though, which I really had fun writing. And you all will adore the next chapter. I had the most absolute fun writing it. I think you will really enjoy it.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	11. Floorboards Under the Bed

**Chapter Eleven**

**Floorboards Under the Bed**

Benson wasn't looking forward to this interview one bit. He had seen enough of Connor Wong's show to know that the man had a reputation of being a rather cruel interviewer. It was painfully clear to Benson that Maellard was the one who was originally supposed to be on the program. However, Maellard wasn't a fool, and knew that if he actually went on the show it would very well tarnish his status as the city's most powerful figure. Perhaps that was the reason he sent Benson in his stead; to be a scapegoat whose character couldn't be destroyed, or so he believed.

"This is a nightmare," Benson said as he readjusted his tie. He wasn't used to wearing such proper attire, but being that this was a show of "high quality" he had no choice but to dig out the old suit and tie. It didn't help matters that he tied his tie crooked. "I don't want to come on this stupid show." He closed his eyes and let the wind hit his face.

"Well, it's happening," Skips said with disdain, "whether you like it or not." He sat unmoving next to Benson, driving the golf cart toward the television station. The yeti argued for using the station wagon or the truck to give a better appearance, but Benson only complained that gas was too expensive only to drive less than five miles from the park.

"I just don't get why Maellard couldn't have taken an hour out of his day to do this," Benson continued to complain. "I know Connor Wong is supposed to be this big shot griller in an interview, but Maellard seems hostile enough to defend himself from it. I think he's just doing this to watch me squirm."

"I don't think so," Skips remarked, ",Maellard's always being called out in the media, so he probably thought that another appearance would just add more gas to the fire. That's what happens when you're the most powerful man in the city. Besides, he's still pretty shaken up from the ritual earlier – probably best to leave him be right now."

Benson didn't want to hear it, but he knew Skips was being honest. "I guess you're right. Maybe it won't be so bad." He looked up and the stars and tried to see if he could point out any of the constellations. The lights in the city were too bright for any of the important ones to come out though.

They arrive at the Corporate News station a few minutes later. Valet was happy enough to park the golf cart somewhere safe, important, and also far away from the more prestige and expensive looking vehicles. A tall and skinny woman, dressed completely in red and clutching a tablet computer, approached the two men and greeted them.

"Welcome to Corporate News," she said, feigning a grin, "my name in Kat Scarlata. I'm the personal assistant to Connor Wong. If you'd please come with me, we'll get you ready for your interview."

Benson sighed and followed the girl along. Skips skipped along behind him, knowing that if his coworker ever needed some support, it was at that moment.

The woman they were following clicked her tongue and slid a few things along her tablet before looking back at the two men. "We here at CN are very pleased to have you with us. We pride ourselves on our excellent reporting from our investigators as well as the opinions of our viewers. Our programming is a mixture of politics and entertainment ranging from the highly successful Connor Wong Show, to the entertaining and comical Travel Adventures with Gumball and Darwin. We are happy that the people have spoken and chosen us to be the recipients for many awards: Including best satirical news panel on The Children Next Door, and best morning show for Good Mornings with the Eds."

Both Benson and Skips rolled their eyes at the canned introduction and speech they were getting. It was nothing short of amazing that this woman was able to recite all of this without breaking character.

Skips grinned and tried to test the woman. gWhat about the apparent controversy involving you and your rival network, the Adult fs Side? h he asked with some apparent cynicism. gI heard you guys were at each other's throats, and yet you're owned by the same company. h

Kat stopped in her tracks and turned right around to glare at the yeti. "Look white thing, I have to repeat this bullshit speech to every single person who comes in here for an interview. You can't honestly imagine how mind numbing that gets after the hundredth time of saying it. It makes it especially worse since I have to repeat it up to five times per day, so cut me some slack. I don't give two shits about CN or AS. They just provide paychecks, and as long as I'm getting six figures a year, I'll suffer through the job. Here…" She points to a door behind her. "This is your waiting room." She approached the door, turns the knob, and kicks it open. Her face turns to disgust as she looks inside.

Benson and Skips follow along, peeking in the room to see what was inside that would warrant such a reaction from her.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: basic little white room with a few couches, a mirror and make up counter, some refreshments on a table, and a TV hanging up in the corner showing Connor Wong's opening title. However, the room was not completely devoid of life. Sitting on one of the couches were two women: one dressed in business attire with long flowing pink hair, with a pinkish tint to her skin to add to it. The other dressed in an outfit similar to Kat's, only it was all light blue with bits of white strewn about.

"Nat Ward," Kat scowled, "how nice to see you and Ms. Bubblegum again."

An awkward air filled the room as the two assistants stared each other down.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Kat," Nat said with a smirk. "Still enjoy breaking the souls of you and Wong's guests?"

"I don't know really," Kat replied. "Are you enjoying trying to play the pariah card every time you and your client here don't get your way."

Silence came before them, and they continued to stare daggers at each other. In between them was an invisible battle of wits and brawn in which they had stake in completely.

Thankfully, a stage hand popped on by and informed the other guest that they had two minutes to get in place while the show was on commercial.

"We'll continue our discussion later in the evening," Kat snapped, "if that's alright with you, Natalie."

"I would absolutely love to continue this rousing conversation later, Katherine," Nat quipped at her.

They bump each other's shoulders as they passed by. Benson and Skips were both expecting them to break out into a fist fight right there on the spot. That wouldn't happen till after the show though.

As Benson approached the couch to sit and relax, he passed by the pink woman whom Nat was an assistant to. She smiled at him warmly and asked, "Is this your first interview with him?" Benson nodded. "Don't let him get to you. He can be a tough one to talk to, but if you can at least catch him off guard, you can still get away with your integrity intact."

Benson listened, and nodded. "Thanks," he said to the girl.

"No worries!" She laughed.

"Bonnibel!" Nat yelled from the hallway. "Hurry up! You know the first thing Connor will attack is going to be tardiness!"

"Coming!" the girl replied. She gave Benson one more nod, and exited the room.

Kat slammed the door as hard as she could behind her. "God, I love those two," she said with a smile. "They make our mundane lives a little more exciting I think. I cannot wait to scratch that bitch's eyes out after the show though. I'll make sure to go for the jugular this time."

"Sounds like you two don't like each other that much," Skips said.

"Oh far from it," the woman laughed. "We just have a friendly rivalry is all. One that degrades into a massive fist fight out in the alleyway after every interview, and is followed up a night of friendly drinking at the local bar. Good times."

Skips looked over at Benson, and expected a similar expression of confusion from that. Instead, Benson was too busy looking up at the television as the show came back from commercial. Connor Wong's distinctive face, sporting his usual casual business attire, pops up on screen. He holds up a tan colored book with drawings of castles and creatures on it, as he announces his returning guest, Bonnibel Bubblegum, to promote her newest book.

Benson leaned against the couch and followed along with the interview. He needed to know exactly what he was up against. He only seen a few episodes of Connor Wong before, and very rarely did he actually pay attention to the interviews. He mostly just had it on in the background while he was working on something else. But now, he had to focus all of his attention on this person on screen. He seemed pretty ruthless by the looks of things.

Right as he was watching, however, the screen went black. Kat had come upon and flipped the TV off. She looked at Benson with a sigh and a glare and then down to her tablet.

"You have about fifteen to twenty minutes to get ready before you're asked to come out," she explained. "Afterwards, the interview will take place over the course of about ten to fifteen minutes, usually depending on how much time we have left with the show. The show itself is only an hour long, and depending on how well Connor likes you, you may be asked to stay longer. Other than that, be calm, courteous, and answer the questions to the best of your ability. Oh, and I need you to sign this." She thrusts her tablet into Benson's arms. The screen read "liability waiver", with her pointing down to the signature line. Benson knew what she wanted, and signed it with a quick flick of his finger. "Thank you," she said. "I'll come collect you when it's time." She thanked them both, and left.

The moment she was out of the room, he quickly turned the television back on. He and Skips were shocked to see Bonnibel and Connor nearly at each other's throats. She had begun to stand and finger point while raising her voice, while he flailed his arms about and screamed as loud as he possibly could to drown her out. His face was a deep shade of red, and his head was literally inflating like a balloon. He took a deep breath and it deflated slowly. He definitely wasn't 100% human.

"This guy's dangerous, Benson," Skips said to him. "I've watched his show a few times. No matter what you say, he's gonna find a way to make you look like the bad guy. He doesn't like being wrong."

"Neither do I," Benson replied. He watched the girl opposite of Connor gain the upper hand suddenly, and the man's head balloon to three times its size. "And neither does she by the looks of it." He sighed and let out a relieving sigh. "I think I might fit in quite nicely."

Watching Bonnibel defend herself with such integrity and pride gave Benson an extra boost of strength to get through the interview. Plus, he knew that guests remained on stage for the duration of the show after the interview (if they were asked) so sitting next to the girl he barely knew might help some as well. That is unless she gangs up on him as well. She didn't know why he was there, so Benson hoped that she would be on his side.

"You still need to be careful Benson," Skips continued. "Connor Wong is a smooth talker. He will use anything he can get his hands on and use it against you. He prides himself on dirty politics and controversy."

"I think I'll manage, Skips," Benson reassured him.

Skips shook his head as he listened to his coworker. In his eyes, the gumball machine didn't know what he was getting into, and Skips was powerless to do anything about it. He crossed his fingers, and hoped for the best.

They watched the rest of the interview go by, until finally Connor stopped Bonnibel, declared himself the winner and that she was wrong no matter what was said on the discussion. It was comparable to a child throwing a temper tantrum when they were told that they were wrong on every level. And yet, the girl's expression remained stoic as he got his way. She smiled and thanked him for his time.

The door into the room opened, and Kat returned with her tablet and red dress. "It's time," she said without even looking at him. "I hope you wrote out your will." She smirked evilly and led Benson out.

"You can head back to the park, Skips," Benson said as he was leaving the room. "I can handle it from here."

"Like I'm going to go back to park while you get massacred," Skips muttered. "I think I'll stick around for a little bit longer."

Benson shrugged at him, and continued to follow Kat out onto the stage. She passed Nat, in which the two exchanged quick "pleasantries" as Benson was directed to the set. Skips remained behind the camera, and watched his boss take a seat next to Bonnibel Bubblegum.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Benson asked her.

She shook her head. "Do you?"

Benson chuckled and nodded. "I wish I didn't though. It would make this interview less nerve wracking I think."

"Just remember what I told you," she whispered. "And I'll help you out if things get a little too heated. Even if I don't agree 100% with it."

"Thanks."

A stage man screamed for quiet as the show was returning in…

5…

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_"The Connor Wong Show is sponsored by Pony's Sugar Coated Chicken! Because when you needed something for dinner and desert, Pony's Sugar Coated Chicken for you when you get home! Also by, This and That Life Insurance, because let's face it, you're going to die eventually, and wouldn't you want your family to still love you even after you're dead?"_

"Thanks for joining us," Connor Wong says to the camera with a grin. "Joining us now is the park manager for the local city park, where several dangerous and unsanitary activities have prompted lawsuits against the park, investigations, and bribery from the city leading crook and frequent guest on my show, Maellard. Please welcome Benson. Thank you for coming."

Investigations? Bribery? Lawsuits at the park? These were all news to Benson. But he couldn't let his confusion be shown. He did his best to adopt an emotionless and cold expression and to try and remain neutral in the tone of his voice. "I'm happy to be here," the gumball machine lied. Bonnibel also welcomed him with a nod, making him believe he was doing alright so far.

Through out the city, the park workers all had their televisions tuned to the CN channel, and were busy watching with curiosity and bated breath.

High Five Ghost watched from he and Muscle Man's home in their trailer, now located directly outside the park gates. "Mitch! It's on!" he yelled to the bathroom. Muscle Man came out of the bathroom, his hair now returned to his original color, and looked at HFG unhappily.

"It's not the same, bro!" he said to HFG, pointing towards his hair. He then began to scream at the top of his lungs and started banging his head against the wall. High Five Ghost couldn't wait for these emotional side effects to pass.

Maellard watched from his office in the corporate building he owned. He tapped his fingers on his desk and quietly waited for the merciless attack on his underling. If there ever was a test to see if Benson was truly worthy of this job, this was it. Maellard jumped in sheer fright though as Tim appeared from out of nowhere with two sodas in hand. "Good lord, Timothy. You scared me half to death!"

"Quit yelling at me, YOU OLD BASTARD!" Tim screamed as loud as he could. He hugged the wall of the office and limped over to the old man, still feeling weak from the ritual. "Here's your damned diet drink. I hope you choke on it you cold hearted, malicious, pathetic, aging fossil."

Mordecai and Rigby watched from the Coffee Shop, along with the worker's of the store. Eileen watched along from the sidelines as she cleaned the store up, while Veronica specifically took her break at that moment to sit down and watch Benson be emotionally cut into ribbons.

"This is going to be fantastic," she said with anticipation. "I looooooove Connor Wong. I watch his show whenever I get the chance. I just love a man who knows how to use words to his advantage. Nothing like a man with a silver tongue."

Eileen and the boys rolled their eyes and continued to watch the television. Mordecai gave the still slightly sobbing and now incredibly depressed Rigby a pat on the head to cheer him up a bit. He too was waiting for these ritual side effects to wear off. He turned and looked behind himself. Pops was curled up on top of table, sleeping soundly after tuckering himself out from earlier. He just wanted to make sure he was still in sight before returning back to the TV. He sighed and thought about Margaret. She had stepped away with a coffee in hand, saying she would be right back before leaving the shop.

"Lets start audience off with some background information then, shall we?" Connor began. "A few days ago, the park held a sort of carnival as a fundraiser to gather money to keep the park open correct?" Benson nodded. "Now, in the process of this carnival, one of the supervisors, an anthropomorphic raccoon, Don…"

Benson had no idea why the people had to know Don was an anthro.

"…went on a rampage, injuring several people and causing a large amount of damage to the park in general. I also heard that he kidnapped you and one other, as well as attack one of your park custodians. Is this correct?"

"Yes," Benson answered. "But I'd like to add that he was possessed by an outside source, and that his actions were against his will."

"Yes, I heard about that from several witnesses," Connor remarked. "I also heard that the creature in question fits the same description as the one that attacked the park about a month ago, and that these same witnesses claim that the creature came out from the park itself."

Benson breathed through his nose and answered: "It came from somewhere underneath the park, Connor. We're still trying to figure out why it was there in the first place. We don't even know how old it."

"Old enough to hold a grudge against Maellard," Connor added. "My inside sources have gone on record to quote that Maellard has personally hired a body guard under the sole purpose to protect him from this monster. Now, I've known Maellard to be fearful at times for his life, but this is the first time he's ever hired someone to protect him. Tell me Benson, does this creature you talk about have some sort of past with Maellard?"

"I can safely say that he does not," Benson answered.

"Really? His son says otherwise." Connor looks toward a screen on the back of the stage, and Pops appears on it. The words, "recorded earlier," appear below.

"Well, I'd have to say that that monster certainly knew papa!" Pops said with excitement. "Papa hasn't told me much of anything else though. And every time I ask him, he simply tells me to drop it. He's a strange one my father. When is this going to be on the air? Do I get my free head warming cap now?" His giggles are cut off by the screen going blank.

Meanwhile at his corporate office, Maellard grimaces. He was upset, but not angry. Chances were, one of Wong's men broadsided Pops with questions and did not tell him who they were working for. Connor Wong and his cohorts were known for such sneaky and underhanded methods. Maellard did not like what he saw one bit.

Timothy, on the other hand, was too busy laughing his head off. "Your son looks more retarded on television than he does in real life!" He was then promptly hit on the head with the man's cane.

Connor smiled at Benson, who was now slightly surprised by Pops inclusion. "It seems suspicious that Maellard doesn't want to talk about something that wants to kill him. Perhaps he has some sort of dark twisted secret, what do you say, Benson?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm afraid," the gumball machine retorted. "I'm only an employee under him. I don't know much of his personal life."

"And yet," the human scoffed, "he sent you instead of coming in to face the city, nay the nation, himself. He's a coward for doing so. You of all people, having to work under him, should know about his terrible working conditions, low pay to his employees, and the awkward amount of scandals and controversies he's gone through."

"I can tell you that the working conditions and pay rumor isn't true," Benson lied through his teeth. "I've been working at the park for years now, and I can guarantee you that besides a few hiccups in the way things work, there has been no instances where any of our employees have complained about Maellard and how the benefits and pay work." He had to defend Maellard. Ironically, he had to defend the job he hated most, which was governed by a cruel boss with terrible working conditions and pay, in order to keep getting paid so that he may continue to live. Life was funny that way.

"You shouldn't lie, Benson," Connor grinned and he stared down as some papers in front of him. "I have several reports here that state two employees were constantly complaining about working conditions. Most of them directed at you, in fact."

Benson glanced at the papers across from him, and took a deep breath. He had no idea how it was that he got his hands on those things. They were strictly confidential and hidden away. Someone must of snuck in and made copies without anyone looking. It didn't surprise Benson. Someone probably braved the park right after it temporarily closed down, and copied the park records. Benson cursed Maellard and himself for not removing the book from the park.

"It seems like you aren't the most kindly of bosses either," Connor mentioned as he looked from one page to another, "constant outbursts of rage, ignoring issues between coworkers, favoritism, destruction of property, and this is my favorite: a few cases of murder by defense as well." He paused and tried to gauge the look on Benson's face. "Looks like Maellard ended up hiring a little version of himself."

Benson's eye twitched. He wanted to leap across the table and slam his fist in the man's jaw. But he kept his composure. He couldn't show weakness of any sort in front of this man.

"So instead of talking about Maellard, or the monster who's trying to kill him, or anything else involving that man, let's talk about Benson," Connor sneered.

"I was told that I was to be on this program to discuss the incident that happened at the park only," Benson reacted.

"Do you want to talk about that?' Connor grinned. "Lets talk about that then. According to police reports, about 62 people were injured from you and Maellard's inability to kill a creature that both of you were aware."

"We didn't know it was still alive."

"The damages to the park, including medical bills for the injured caused by Don, and the monster, not to mention the booths falling apart, comes to a total estimate of about $200,000. Now I'm sure the fundraiser barely brought in that much, so the tax payers are going to have to pay for the mess that you and your boss caused."

Benson frowned. "All things that happened on that day – we had no control over."

"What the creature?"

"We thought the thing was dead. One of our custodians killed it. Apparently, it's harder to kill than we thought."

"And Don?" Connor inquired further.

"Don had no idea that that thing was going to attack. He's currently in the hospital recovering from injuries caused by that thing and us having to subdue him."

"Subdue?"

Benson's face grew slightly sullen as he thought about it. "He was causing a scene. We had to stop him somehow."

"So you attacked an innocent by standard whose only crime was being possessed by something he had no control over?" Connor asked.

"You're twisting his words, Connor," Bonnibel interrupted. "He was trying to protect the park and the people inside of it."

"I'd say he was more worried about the park than the people if he was gladly attacking someone to make the carnage stop," Connor snapped at her, before refocusing on Benson. "What if you had killed him, Benson? What if you had killed poor Don?"

"We took care so that something like that didn't happen!" Benson argued. "Don's my friend! I would never let anything like that happen to him!"

"I don't believe you," Connor said in a low tone. "I think you and your team had every intent to kill poor Don if it meant saving you and Maellard a buck. What a sad day it is when a person can only think of money than the life of another living thing."

"I said nothing of the sort," Benson said, standing from his chair.

"Someone seems to be overly angry over this," Connor laughed. "I don't know about you or anyone else out there, but that seems awfully suspicious."

Benson gritted his teeth at this man. This interview didn't make a lick of sense. He was just saying random things to make himself look like a hero. Skips was completely right. Benson shot a glance over to Bonnibel, who was staring a sympathetic look back at him.

"I think we'll confirm some of these suspicions when we return from our commercial break," Connor said to camera. A stage men yelled something, and people came running up to the stage.

"TWO MINUTES!" someone screamed.

Connor sighed and stood from his seat. "Good interview so far! This is great stuff," he said with a suddenly bright and cheery smile. He walked away from his guests and over to Kat.

Benson sighed and grunted under his breath.

"He's going easy on you," Bonnibel said. "That means he's probably going to attack you head on as soon as we come back from commercial."

Benson didn't want to hear that. This bastard barely gave him a word in edge wise. How was he supposed to defend himself when he barely got a chance to even do anything?

"I think someone is trying to get your attention," Bonnibel said pointing to someone off stage.

Benson looked out for his seat and saw Margaret next to Skips, waving one wing in greetings and holding a coffee mug in another. Benson looked over at Bonnibel who shooed him away with her hands, telling him to hurry it up.

"Surprise!" Margaret said as Benson walked up to her and Skips. "Were you expecting me?"

"I don't think I know what I'm supposed to be expecting anymore," the machine groaned. "Why are you here?"

She held up her coffee mug and offered it to him. "I brought you your favorite!"

"My favorite?" Benson asked as he took the mug from her.

"The one I've been making for you the past few weeks?"

"Oh that one!" Benson beamed. He took a sip of it to find it only a little warm, which actually exemplified the creaminess in it. It caused his body to shutter joyfully, and gave him that minor boost of energy he needed. "Still just as good as ever."

"Thanks!" Margaret blushed. "The boys told me you were coming on here tonight, and I've read about how rough Connor Wong can be. So I thought, 'what the heck?' I'll just pop on by, and give him a little boost. Hopefully it'll make you feel a little better about the interview."

Benson took a long drink, continuing his grin as he did. "It did, Margaret! Thanks." He handed the half empty mug cardboard mug back to her. The two of them then stood there awkwardly, both of them laughing shyly until Benson had to return to his interview. "Stick around! We can all do something after the show!"

Margaret nodded and took a deep breath as he walked away.

"You're really starting to like him, aren't you?" Skips asked with a sly curve to his lips.

Margaret's blush deepened. "Well, maybe just a little," she whispered.

Benson cursed the world under his breath as he slumped back down into his seat. The drink Margaret had brought was a nice touch, and it did give him the drive to finish the interview, but something told him that Connor was about to tear into him. Everyone pretty much already agreed it was going to happen.

"She seems cute," Bonnibel whispered to him. "Is that your wife?"

"What!" Benson nearly screamed. "No, not that at all."

"Girlfriend then?"

"She's just a friend. She works at the Coffee Shop a few streets up. We only just started to know each other. She just came by to give me some support."

"It seems like she likes you."

Benson looked back at Margaret, who was busy discussing something with the yeti. "Maybe she does. I don't think anything is going to come of it though."

"So you don't like her?" Bonnibel asked.

The gumball machine watched as he saw Skips crack some sort of joke, and Margaret laugh. He could hear her sweet voice from there. "Well, maybe just a little," he whispered.

"WE'RE BACK IN FIFTEEN EVERYONE!" a stagehand screamed to the whole set.

Benson quickly readjusted himself in his seat, as did Bonnibel. She quickly wished him, "good luck," and within seconds, they were once again brought into the world of Connor Wong.

5…

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The theme chime of Connor Wong played as the camera zooms in on his serious expression. "Welcome back. If you are just joining us, earlier we interviewed Bonnibel Bubblegum about her new book as well as the current collapse of several nations overseas, and with us now is Benson of the Maellard Corporation discussing with us the recent strange events the city park has gone through, including a fundraiser gone wrong and an attack on the workers and citizens. Now Benson," he continued, the camera switching to a view showing all three of them, "it's pretty much fact at this point that you are Maellard's second hand man."

"No it's not," Benson grimaced. "I'm a park manager. I have no say in what goes on with Maellard and his corporation."

"So you say," Connor grinned. "Perhaps you're right. But that doesn't mean you aren't responsible for what happened at the park. I mean, it is you and your workers jobs to make sure that the park runs like clock work with no difficulties, correct?"

"You know that's true."

"So then why didn't you know about the hideous creature that has attacked your park twice now within a month?"

"Again, Mr. Connor," Benson said with malice, "that thing was underground. We couldn't have known it was there to begin with."

"But it still makes you responsible," he snapped. "All of you were unprepared for that thing the first time around, and the second time, you both were just sitting around, twiddling your thumbs as it possessed a defenseless raccoon anthro, and caused him to go on a rampage."

"That thing attacked him out of nowhere!" the gumball machine argued. "I couldn't stop it!"

"OH! So you saw the creature in question attack Don? How interesting…"

"Don't read into it," Benson replied, "it came right out of nowhere and attacked Don while he was busy dealing with the situation about the booths."

"Speaking of which," Connor interrupted, "I have a statement from the company your park rented the build-a-booths for, and they're claiming that they supplied you with all the necessary equipment to keep the booths up. In other words, they blame you for your shoddy workmanship."

"Well we can't be blamed if they go and fall apart on their own, right?"

"Oh well I think you can. According to reports, it turns out that several lug nuts were missing from some of the booths. Either you have a saboteur, or your team is just lazy, and I'm willing to think it's the latter."

"And why would you think that?" Benson asked with an angry curiosity.

Connor gave his trademark smile and folding his hands together on the table. The screen on the wall flickers and shows a picture of the current part staff: the New Years Day photo that they took a few months back. "Well, look at them. Your entire staff is made up of anthropomorphic animals, mentally unfit morons, and you of course... you know, mostly defects."

Benson's face flushed purple with rage and he stood up from his seat, knocking it over in the process. He slammed both his fists down onto the table and gritted his teeth. At that moment, he didn't care who – watching their television – saw him. That was just stepping over the line. Even Bonnibel was surprised, flinching at the very statement.

"HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT!" Benson screamed at the host.

Connor, unmoving from his seat, smiled at the reaction. This was exactly what he was waiting for. He waved his hand for some men to come on stage, in which two of them stepped up behind him. The security guards leered down at Benson from three feet above his height. The gumball took some breaths through his nose and tried to calm himself.

"And this is exactly what I was talking about," Connor said from behind his goons. "Gumball machine's have been statistically shown to have more angry outbursts than humans."

"Show me proof," Benson sneered through his teeth.

"I don't have any on me, but I can assure you that there are hundreds of studies on the subject of inanimate lifeforms, including gumball machines. And all my viewers as well as the citizens of this fair city can take my word with trust."

"Bullshit they can, you bigoted-ass news whore!" Benson shrieked.

Mordecai spit his coffee out from the Coffee Shop, while Eileen and Veronica's mouth dropped agape. High Five Ghost was even surprised by the sudden profane outburst. Maellard and Tim grew silent as well, with Maellard nodding his head with impression. "The boy's got it in him." Tim slammed his drink on the table, and Maellard jumped in fright.

Margaret had a wing to her mouth as she listened in. She had no idea Benson could be prone to such anger. She had heard from Mordecai and Rigby he was capable of such, but she always thought it was exaggeration. She looked up at Skips. His face was the same it had always been. Margaret was surprised by his unflinching nature. But when she looked down at his fingers, she could see a slight twitch to them. His fingers had curled into fists and were beginning to shake madly.

"Watch yourself, Benson," Connor said with his usual grin, "you ARE on camera."

"So are you!" Benson yelled. "And you just said some pretty racist things about some of my friends!"

"Racist? How dare you call me that!" Connor screamed at Benson, matching his tone. His head slowly began to inflate a small amount. "I have nothing but respect for all living and nonliving things on this planet. But there is factual evidence and studies proving that they are both physically and mentally defective from humans."

"You're doing it again!" the machine accused. "You don't even have the proof to back yourself up!"

"As I said, Benson: there is factual evidence and studies proving otherwise. Look them up yourself. We can even go on commercial break so that our viewers at home and yourself can look it up." Connor shrugged from behind his guards, feeling completely protected and on top of the world.

Benson wasn't going to give up that easily though. "You mean studies conducted by bigoted 'scientists' who have been called out for their 'research'!" The air quotes Benson gave were filled to the brim with venom.

"Are you against science then, Benson?"

"Quit trying to put words in my mouth!"

Bonnibel curved her eyebrows down in anger and folded her arms. "You're being quite rude to your guest, Connor," she said calmly. "I happen to know that there are tens of thousands of studies proving that anthropomorphs and nonliving entities, both physical and spiritual, are just as capable as any human alive. I even wrote some studies on the subject, as well as some books, which you yourself have advertised on your show."

Connor huffed in aggravation at the woman. "Your advice isn't worth the paper it's written on, Bonnibel. According to you, your advice brought about the total destruction of your precious 'kingdom' and its residents a few centuries ago, or have you forgotten that little story you've told the world, Princess Bubblegum? Why you haven't been committed yet for creating such stories is beyond me."

The girl's face turned a hideous crimson as her hands began to shake. Benson looked at her and found her on the verge of tears. He looked outside the stage and saw Nat slack jawed, as well as Kat looking absolutely furious. Obviously, Connor said something he wasn't supposed to.

"Forgive me, Bonnibel," Connor quickly apologized. "I shouldn't have said anything about your 'kingdom'. You are quite the girl to truly believe the stories that say such a place as the Candy Kingdom and the mythical land of Ooo even ever existed. I over stepped my boundaries for insulting your intelligence and... grip on reality."

"Stories?" she yelled, almost in tears.

"Well there's no proof of the existence of Ooo."

"Just like you have to no proof of what you said to me!" Benson screamed at him.

He looked over at the girl. Her expression was just as stern and powerful as his. The two guests combined had enough power to overthrow the cruel person in front of them. The fact that Connor's head had inflated so large was proof enough of that. He was reaching his rope's end.

"I have proof on that," Connor said calmly, his head deflating back to regular size. "At least with that, it's factual. With Ooo, not so much. I'm not one to believe in fairy tales or the ramblings of a woman who's older than dirt, and can't get over her friends deaths, I'm afraid."

Bonniebel had had enough. It was one thing to attack her, but to attack the people she had loved so dearly in the past? She simply removed her mic, and stormed off stage with Nat at her side. She sneered at Kat, claiming that they'll be, "hearing from our lawyers," before exiting.

Benson slit his eyes to Connor. "You're an awful human being. You brought us all on here to make us look bad and claim your point that you're better than us, and then when we ask for proof, you give us nothing. You're worse than two slackers I happen to know. At least they have integrity and are good people."

Mordecai smiled from the Coffee Shop and wrapped his arm around Rigby's shoulder. He shook him playfully, happy to see Benson say such a nice thing about them. Even Rigby cracked a smile upon hearing the compliment.

"You mean two workers – not slackers – you happen to know?" Connor inquired. "I assume it's the two anthros, the bird and the raccoon, right? It's not surprising you think they are lazy. Blue jays are known to be terribly rude and cruel around other people, and raccoon's are lazy thieves who only think of themselves."

Mordecai threw his coffee at the TV. Eileen joined in, throwing an empty plastic glass at the screen in Rigby's place.

"No one talked about my Rigby like that!" she screamed out. When she realized what she said, her face turned a bright red in embarrassment, and she shyly backed away out of the room.

"So where's your damned proof then!" Benson screamed.

"I told you: I don't have any on me," the host argued, "but the people at home are welcome to look up 'why raccoons are lazy' and why blue jays are 'terrible parents' at any time. I suggest they do it now and expand their minds. In order to live in harmony with everyone we first must understand them."

"Why should they believe anything you say?" Benson asked, nearly climbing on top of Connor's desk.

Connor laughed and glared evilly at Benson. "Because I'm the one everyone is watching. The people wouldn't watch me if they didn't believe me. And honestly, who are the public going to trust? An educated scholar who has his own show with millions of followers, or some hermaphrodite gumball machine who's just a sad excuse of a 'living' thing?"

If Connor had only turned his head only ten degrees to his right, he might have seen the camera go flying into his face. The security guards didn't even notice until the glass of the lens had cracked onto his cheek. Within that very moment, Skips jumped onto the set, pushed both guards out of the way, and knocked the host right to the ground. The only thing the remaining cameramen could see was a fist coming up, and plummeting back down from behind the desk in quick succession.

Everyone behind the stage, and watching at home, gazed on in horror and fascination as the yeti wailed down onto the host. Benson's face, once purple with rage and anger, returned to its pink hue and clear nature as he watched. He stepped away, out of sight of the camera and joined Margaret, just as enthralled as everyone else. The security guards were doing their best to get the beast off of Connor Wong, but he only pushed them away and continued to attack.

Benson took his drink from Margaret and sipped on it. A cruel grin appeared on his face as the carnage unfolded in front of him. He couldn't help but start laughing.

Somewhere far away, Maellard was doing the same thing.

* * *

><p>"This should be enough to get the old boy out of jail," Maellard said with a content grin on his face. He handed the check to Benson, and slammed the bottom of his cane down onto the ground in approval. "I must admit, Benson, I was quite impressed with how you handled yourself with Connor. It's not everyday that someone actually stands up to him like that. Kudos." The fact that Maellard actually pronounced his name correctly put a huge smile on Benson's face.<p>

Tim even nodded in approval and winked at Benson as he walked away with Maellard.

It was an hour after the show finished, and it didn't surprise either Benson nor Margaret that a SWAT team had to take Skips away in cuffs. Maellard and Tim were on the scene a few moments after the attack, still laughing about it. When they found out where he was being taken, he cut Benson a check and expected the yeti to be back at work by the next day.

Margaret and Benson were left to drive the golf cart to the police station and bail the yeti out. Connor was nice enough not to press charges at least, but that was only because he was afraid of a scandal.

"That was..." Margaret breathed.

"Yeah..." Benson finished.

They sat next to each other in silence and watched the night sky pass by. Benson had offered to give the girl a lift home since she walked from the Coffee Shop to the station. He didn't want to leave her there, especially in a hateful place such as that.

"Thanks for the ride home," she says, letting the wind pass by her feathers. The gusts get caught in the ruffles between quills, fluffing it up and giving her a smooth movement of sorts.

"It's fine," Benson sighs as he turned a corner. "Skips can wait a few minutes while I drop you off. He's probably in his cell laughing his butt off."

"I know I would be," Margaret grinned.

"So would I."

They both exploded into laughter. It echoes through the empty streets, giving them the impression that they were the only ones there.

The cart stopped at a red light, ceasing the wind and the laughter shortly there after.

Benson tapped at the wheel, and stole a quick glance to the girl. She was edging herself closer to him, blushing slightly. "What are you doing?" he asked, a smile still on his face.

She said nothing, only scooting closer until she was right next to him. "Hey Benson," she began, "are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

"No," he answered curiously. "Why do you ask?"

She didn't say anything. She only gave him a toothy grin, implying something that was even within Benson's grasp.

He blushed a bit. "Tomorrow?" he asked nervously. "You want to do something tomorrow? Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Do what?" she questioned.

"Be seen with someone like me. Someone who's older than you..."

"I've dated older men, Benson."

"...and someone who's been with Veronica?"

"That's not a deal breaker either."

"...or even a gumball machine?"

"Benson!' she yelled. "I like you! You're a sweet guy. A little angry and stressed out at times, but a nice guy. I really want to get to know you. So what do you say? We can do something simple; maybe a little dinner and dancing?"

Benson's blush deepened. A girl was asking him out. He hadn't been out on a date in so long, unless you counted what he and Don did as a date (which he didn't). He did like Margaret enough though. He understood what Mordecai liked about her. Mordecai! He couldn't go out on a date with her! This was his coworker's crush! What was he even doing thinking about this?"

"Listen Margaret," Benson said, "it's not gonna happen. And it's not because I don't like you. I do like you. You're a good friend. It's just that..."

"Mordecai will be fine," she blurted out.

Benson's face grew shocked as she finished, winking at him.

"I know what I'm doing, Benson," she added. "Mordecai has had every chance in the world to ask me right now, and he still hasn't. It sounds kind of mean, but it is kind of his loss. So I know what I'm doing. If I wasn't, I probably wouldn't be asking you now, would I? So what do you say?"

"Well... uh..."

Benson thought about it. Margaret really seemed to want this, and Benson was curious to date her too. Not so much because he had a crush on her, but more because she was a girl who actually gave him the time of day and really wanted to be close to him. That was a good reason, right? But it was so sudden though, and right out of left field. This didn't seem right at all. He didn't know what to say to her.

Maybe he could convince her to go out as friends. But what if things escalated beyond that? She was so young too, far younger than him. That seemed a bit strange to him. And then there was Mordecai lingering at the back of his mind.

She was still staring at him for an answer. He had to make up his mind. He took a deep breath, and told her as the light changed.

**Floorboards Under the Bed - **_The Twilight Sad_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

I cannot begin to tell you how much I loved writing this chapter. It was just such a joy to write. And yes, the cameo with Bubblegum was intended. You can just consider her a part of the Diamonds universe now, hahahah! Also, I loved coming up with all the little side characters in this chapter. They are so crazy and weird, which is what I always like to write about. I really am proud with how this chapter came out.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	12. The Girl

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Girl**

The waitress brought Skips and Benson's food amidst the yeti's laughter. She smiled and pondered what it was the hulking man was giggling about. It wasn't her place to ask though, so she simply placed the plate of food down in front of him, as well as a small order of pancakes in front of Benson. She told them to enjoy, and walked away, thinking nothing of it.

"So you're seriously going to go out with Margaret?" Skips asked again.

"I wouldn't call it a date, per say," Benson said as he unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. He was hungry enough to suffer through what he assumed would be bouncy and rubbery pancakes.

"Mordecai is going to throw a fit when he finds out," the yeti remarked as he took his fork and scooped up some roasted potatoes from off his plate. He hadn't eaten dinner, so that menu seemed more pleasing than the breakfast that Benson was about to enjoy.

"Mordecai's never going to find out. What he doesn't know won't kill him."

"You sure about that?"

Benson thought about it for a second and nodded. "Mordecai and Rigby will probably be off doing there own thing at the house. He won't even know Margaret and I are up to something."

"And just what are you two up to?" Skips asked.

"I don't know yet. She said dinner and dancing would probably be all. Dinner sounds fine, but I'm not the best dancer in the world."

Skips was right in the middle of sipping on his coffee when he stopped and gave Benson a skeptical look, lowering his brow and frowning softly.

"Alright, alright," Benson laughed, "so I'm a good dancer, is that a crime?"

"You're more than just a good dancer, ya know."

"So I'm told."

Benson looked out the window of the little gas station diner he and Skips had decided to stop by on their way home from the police station. The moon was high, and the streets were clear, save for the occasional passing car speeding off to who knows where. The diner was essentially empty save for the two of them and the midnight staff. Benson liked this quiet. It gave him time to think about things. He should be in bed, but his head was throbbing too much from earlier to even entertain the thought. A mixture of rituals, Connor Wong, and Margaret washed together to make some sort of amalgam event that never happened but was amusing to say the least. He took a bite of the pancakes, surprised that they not only had a taste, but that they were also far less rubbery than he previously thought they would be.

"Thanks, by the way," Benson said with food in his mouth.

"For what?" Skips asked between bites.

"For beating up Connor Wong. It was really nice of you to defend me like that – albeit a little violently."

"Don't mention it," the white beast beamed. "He was really starting to get on my nerves anyways. I mean, the way he lumped all of us together as defects? Ugh… those are my friends you're talking about, pal. I had a pretty good reason to attack the idiot."

Benson grinned and cut into his cakes. "You know you're probably gonna be an internet sensation by tomorrow. Not only that, but I wouldn't be surprised if the media hunted you down."

"Let 'em," Skips grunted. "They'll get bored of me when I don't say anything. Besides, Connor will want them to stop pestering me. He's already in trouble with most non-human groups in the country, and contrary to what he says, he's pretty well despised. I think the only reason people watch his show is because it's a train wreck of idiocy and close-minded bigotry."

Benson nodded and stabbed at his food. "Sounds like standard television to me." He took some of it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed it down. "Still… thanks."

"No problem." Skips replied and glared at the window just in time to see some bicyclist pass by. He thought of something silly from his past, but shrugged it off as nonsense. He sighed and looked up at the starry sky, feeling strangely empty for some reason. "So do you really like Margaret?"

"That seems to be the question on everybody's mind this evening," Benson drably said.

"Well do you?" Skips asked, focusing his attention back onto his friend.

Benson shrugged. "I don't know," he answered, setting his knife and fork down on the table. "I like her well enough to consider a date, but I don't know about an actual relationship. She's still young. I don't think she knows how the world works yet."

"You're the same way," Skips said with a rising grin. "You don't know how it works either."

"You think so, huh?"

"I know so, Benson." The yeti took a sip of his coffee before continuing. He looked down at it and gave a slight shrug at the bland taste. "I think you're just trying to find an excuse not to like her. And if that's the case, I got a doozy of one. It's not bad, but it is about Margaret."

"Because you know everything," Benson quipped, "including a Margaret bomb shell?"

"If you want to hear it."

"I don't," Benson quickly replied. "I think I already know. It's something that I noticed at first about her, and then there was something she said recently. So I think I might know already. But it doesn't change anything."

Skips looked slightly disappointed at the gumball machine. Not for the Margaret secret, but more so for Benson's ambiguous answers. "So you're going to go on this date, whether you want to or not?"

"I think it'll be good for me," Benson said. "I haven't been out on a legitimate date in a while. I need something to relax me anyways. Maybe it'll put things into perspective."

Skips sighed and gave up. If this was what Benson wanted to do, than it was what Benson was going to do. He couldn't stop him. "Just make sure that you don't go over board and do something crazy, okay?"

Benson smiled and picked up his silverware. "You worry far too much about me, Skips."

* * *

><p>"So I hear tell from a very reliable source that you and the red feathered wonder are heading off on the town tonight," Veronica malicious announced. "Is it true?"<p>

Benson sat at a table within the Coffee Shop, waiting for Margaret to get off work. He adjusted his tie and suit jacket a bit while he tried to ignore his ex. His fingers grazed down the button up shirt he had donned as well, making sure each and every button was secure and in place. He had debated wearing pants, but thought they would make him look silly with his Skinny legs and all. His jacket was doing a good job hiding his shirt tail though, so it worked out evenly.

"Well then, are you and Margaret hitting the town tonight?" the woman continued to ask. "You know I don't like being kept waiting, Benson. You know that first hand." Her hand reached up and stroked the side of his cheek. He quickly batted her away, causing the woman to laugh demonically.

"Veronica!" a voice from the back room screamed. "I need your help with these croissants!"

"Yes yes," the blonde gumball machine sighed, "I'm on my way, Michelle." She looked down at Benson and gave him a nudge on the shoulder. "I expect details at some point, Chiclet."

She quietly walked away, stealing a glance of him and laughing seductively.

Benson hated her with a passion. He was also mortified by the very fact that this woman was right back in his life. Their relationship was nice and all, but it ended so abruptly, and broke his heart. He could never forgive her. People like her were the worst type in Benson's eyes. They only looked out for themselves, used their looks and charm to get whatever they wanted, and had no problem teasing and joking with a person to the point of it just being cruel. If he had gone the rest of his life without seeing her again, he would have been a happy gumball machine.

""I'm ready!"

Benson turned to the counter and saw Margaret, doing her best to slip on some easy running shoes, hopping about as she came toward him. Benson grinned at it, surprised to see her in such an earnest and real moment. She wasn't dressed in anything fancy – mostly just jeans and a nice purple shirt. She did put earring on though, which added a sense of elegance to her. Margaret pulled the strap of her purse up to her shoulder and finally stopped in front of Benson.

"Sorry I'm late," Margaret said, "but Michelle was having trouble with the oven today. Veronica took over for me, no less cursing me out while I was getting ready to leave."

"She's like that," Benson commented. "What can you do?"

"I can tell you what I'd like to do to her," the girl angrily huffed.

"Save that energy for the dance floor," Benson laughed. "You'll feel a lot better about having to work with 'that' once you start moving."

Margaret raised her brow in surprise and grinned. "Someone seems excited by this, don't they? I guess you're not as nervous anymore?"

"I'm still nervous," Benson said, standing up from the table, "but it's not as bad when it's with someone I like. C'mon, let's get some food."

"Sounds like a plan to me," she smiled. "I'm starving. Where do you want to eat?"

"Not sure, actually. What sounds good to you?"

"Anything but coffee, bakery stuff, and sandwiches. Other than that, I'll go for whatever!"

Benson nodded and they began to ascend the stairs out of the shop.

"So how was work?" Benson asked as they stepped out the door into the early evening air.

"Do we really need to talk about that?" the girl sighed. "I've only been off for about two minutes. Can you maybe ask me that later?"

Benson smiled and nodded. He tried to think of something else to say to try and break the ice. "You look nice."

"Oh this thing?" Margaret said, looking at her attire. "I didn't have anything really nice to wear, and I know you were nervous about the whole thing, so I decided that maybe my casual clothes would work. I didn't think you'd come all dressed up though."

It was Benson's turn to look at himself, sulking at his choice of clothing. He would have just come as he usually was. He loosened his tie a bit and tried to relax. So far, this seemed more like a night out with a friend than an actual date. Margaret giggled at him. He smiled at that sweet laugh of hers. There was something calming and cool about it. It's joy spread over to him, and he eventually let out a small one as well.

"You look nice though," the girl laughed. "Far better than some of the guys I've dated in the past, that's for sure."

"I heard from Mordecai that your past dates have been a little…"

"Awful?" She finished, before laughing. "Remind me never to tell Mordecai or Rigby about any of dates again. Those are actually private." There was no anger or malice in her statement. In fact, it almost sounded like a joke. She left her private life roll off her back. Benson envied her for that.

"We all have bad dates though," he reassured her.

"Mine aren't really bad dates," she said, a noticeable change in her tone. "My dates just don't want to get to know me. They have trouble looking past something. I guess I really can't blame them. I kind of have this reputation around other people."

"Lemme guess," Benson sighed, "you give it up on the first date, and it's giving you the reputation of a hooker."

Margaret was taken a back by that. "Well, that was surprisingly blunt of you. But it's not wrong. That is kind of how people perceive me since I go on so many dates."

"I take it they're not true?" Benson asked.

"For them to be true, it would have to involve me actually getting them into bed first." She let out a tense chuckle, and tried her best to make it look like it didn't affect her. It looked as though Benson had found something that she didn't like to talk about.

Perhaps a quick change of subject might help things, he thought. "I know this really great restaurant uptown that you'll really like!" he exclaimed.

Margaret smiled shyly and nodded. She was happy to see him change the subject.

The two made their way up town, walking and chatting quietly about their lives and how they came to work where they were. Both of them seemed to stop short of ever explaining anything in real detail, so most of their lives were still considered ambiguous to the other. Neither one of them minded. They cared about the company that they shared and continued on.

Eventually, they made it to the restaurant in question Benson was talking about, located in the cities financial district.

Margaret wasn't so sure about the locale. "This place looks expensive," she said, looking up at the neon lit sign that read "Ciao" on it. She then looked up and down the strip of businesses they were on. "Then again, every building on this little mini mall looks expensive. I think we may be out of place."

"This is actually the cheapest restaurant in the financial district," Benson mentioned. "Pops has taken us here a few times, and it's within our budget."

"Your budget maybe," the girl whispered to herself.

"I heard that!" Benson said smiling. "And don't worry about paying for anything. This is on me. And I don't want to hear any complaining about that."

She didn't. She just thanked him, and they went inside.

The place actually seemed pretty decent. The lights were dim, and there were various tables and booths like at the Coffee Shop. A very large bar with neon lit water tubes, and a spectacular mirror and drink selection remained in the back. Margaret looked up and saw a second floor, mostly made up of the same things as the first floor, though a little more hazy as patrons smoked their tobacco up there.

"Welcome to Ciao," the matradee said as the two entertained. "How many in your party?"

"Just the two of us," Benson replied, pointing to himself and Margaret.

The man behind the wooden stand flipped through a book of names as well as look through a chart of any available spots. "It's a twenty-five minute wait for two people I'm afraid. Unless you want smoking, and that's twenty minute wait."

"That long?" Benson moaned.

"Maybe we should go somewhere else," Margaret suggested, still enamored by the restaurant.

"You're probably right," Benson sighed. "C'mon. Maybe there's a Flapjack's around here where we can get something."

"That's fine with me," the girl commented. "I love Flapjack's!"

Right as they were leaving though, the matradee stopped them, getting something important over the receiver in his ear. "If you would please follow me," he said, snatching two menus hanging on the side of the stand. Benson and Margaret looked at each other and followed along.

They were led beyond the tables and the booths and brought next to the bar. Margaret muttered a small "wow" as she saw the collection of tubes and beautiful glowing lights that brought a sort of powerful atmosphere to the room. The matradee placed them at two stools at the bar and placed the menus in front of them, before wishing them a good meal and stepping away.

"Good to see you here, Beercan," a familiar voice surprised Benson.

The gumball machine nearly fell back into Margaret as he turned his head to be greeted by Maellard and Timothy. They both held up their drinks and greeted the two of them.

"And it looks like that sweet girl from the Coffee Shop that ran off in a fit is with him," Tim said before taking a sip of his beer. "How goes the dreadfully boring existence of a waitress?"

"Underpaying and mind numbingly repetitive," she answered. "How's the glamorous life of a bodyguard to a millionaire?"

"Not as glamorous as you would think," Tim groaned. "The scales were not in my favor when I agreed to this job. I should have stayed with old line of work."

"And that was…?" Benson trailed off.

"Financial analyst, amongst other things."

Maellard laughed as he patted his bodyguard on the shoulder. "I think I learn something new about you everyday, Timmy my boy." His attention shifts back to Benson and Margaret. "So what brings you two here today?"

"Looks like a date to me," Tim bustled.

Both the gumball machine and red robin blushed slightly and muttered something inaudible to one another. This caused the already suspicious Maellard and Tim to burst out into laughter.

"It's good to see young love!" Maellard announced. "You both seem like the types who could desperately use some."

Benson wasn't sure what that exactly meant, but found it more interesting that Maellard was saying it with such gusto. The old codger seemed to be in a good spirits. Benson thought he might have been drunk at first, but he seemed to be in control.

"You're in a surprisingly good mood, Mr. Maellard," Margaret said to him.

"And what's not to be in a good mood about?" the old man asked. "My company made another few million today, the park is almost completely cleaned according to Skips this afternoon, and I still can't get over Connor Wong being beaten up. It was priceless! Not to mention I'm proud of you Benini!"

"Why is that?" Benson asked with a surprised look on his face.

"Do you even need to ask? It's for the same reasons I told you yesterday! You stood up to that idiot and showed how committed you were to your job and protecting its workers. I underestimated you!"

Benson smiled briefly in embarrassment, with a hint of accomplishment on his face. He felt Margaret's wing on his shoulder, rubbing it proudly.

"And I must say," he continued, "you must be doing something right to get as beautiful a woman as this to agree on a date with you. I had no idea how much you could accomplish when you put your mind to it."

Margaret blushed again, and beamed. "You should really stop that Mr. Maellard. You guys are all embarrassing me. I'm not all that great looking."

"Nonsense, girl," Maellard went on. "I dare say you are the prettiest thing I have seen since my dear wife!"

Margaret's smile spread.

Tim even had some nice things to say about her. "She is a cutie, no doubt in any of our minds about that. But she's nothing compared to my wife." He held up his hand with a solid gold wedding band around his ring finger. "She can be a handful, but I love her."

The other three bubbled warmly at all the talk about love and beauty. Maellard let out another laugh and demanded the bartender bring a round of drink to the four of them in celebration of young love. "Not to mention the black eye and broken nose Connor Wong has," he added to the mix.

Maellard took a drink from his new glass and looked toward the TV hanging above the bar. He pointed to it and let out another laugh. "And look at that! Stocks for Hunter and Gatherer are dropping like flies! This is a wonderful day!"

They followed suit and watched the TV carefully. Neither Benson nor Margaret understood what any of the numbers meant, or what the reporter was even talking about. They were more concerned as to when their waiter was going to arrive and take their food order.

"Hey," Tim interrupted, "don't knock Hunter and Gatherer! I got stock in them!"

"Well then I suggest you sell now, my boy!" Maellard said, taking another drink.

"Never count them out, Mr. Maellard," the bodyguard continued. "I have a feeling that they might have a better future in front of them, considering the release of the new Lawn Master Pro and iron tipped arrow heads. Financing was my old job, you know."

"Well, we shall see than, won't we?" Maellard commented. They tinged their glasses together in friendly competition and watched the financial news roll by.

The waiter eventually came after that, giving both Benson and Margaret time to order their food, and begin the slow agonizing wait for it. They both ordered a cheap pasta, though the variations were different for each one, one more spicy than the other. Until their food came, they enjoyed the idle chit chat with Maellard and his bodyguard, talking about the interview, the attacks on the park, as well as Benson and Margaret's date that was more friendly than romantic.

"I am serious, Benuun," Maellard said as he cut into his steak. "You two seem like the perfect couple. I'm not sure why, but there's an aura about the two of you that seems to suggest you two might be perfect for one another."

Benson and Margaret looked at each other, and let out a laugh.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Maellard," the girl giggled as she wrapped some of her Cajun chicken pasta around her fork and placed it in her mouth.

"I must say though, Margaret," Maellard continued, "you have a very healthy appetite for a girl your age – especially for someone who can keep a figure like that."

Margaret shrugged and swallowed her food. "You think I can eat, you should see Eileen. She could probably finish through four of these things before she got sick of it, and she's like a third my size."

"You girl's at that shop never cease to amaze me," the old man continued to grin. A waiter came out and dropped a small covered silver dish to them, telling them to enjoy their desert.

"Well then, my girl," Maellard continued, "once you finish your food, you will absolutely have to try this ruby red velvet cake! The chefs here make the best in the city!"

"Is that why you're here," Benson asked, "for some cake?"

"It's the best cake in the world, Mr. Benson!" Tim said. He reach his hand out and placed his finger into the small hole of the cover to get a good grip. "Take a look at- OW!" He pulled his finger back and waved it around in pain. "Something just bit me!"

"What?" Maellard asked. He looked at the covered plate, and took both sides of the silver dome, and brought it up.

The four of them at the bar jumped out of their seats, abandoning their food as a hideous black glob with many arms and eyes looked at all of them.

"HHhhhhiiiiiiiiiiii!" it shrieked around the restaurant.

Maellard quickly ducked behind Tim, who pulled the pistol out of his holster and unloaded the full contents of it into the creature. The entire restaurant's mood shifted to fear as the customers watched as the man riddled the monster with bullets. It dazed and confused it, more so for the sound and foreign objects passing through it so quickly. But it wasn't dead.

Margaret nearly screamed upon seeing it and looked toward Benson. The gumball machine had stepped away toward the nearest waiter and asked if he had a lighter. The waiter quickly pulled one out of his pocket and handed it to the panicked gumball machine. He flipped up the top of it and ignited the fuel inside, causing a small flame to burst forth. The others watched as he approached the creature and dropped the lighter right on top of it. It burst into a flame, screaming as loud as it could all over the restaurant. And then, within a few seconds, it was gone completely. Any ooze that stayed behind, dried and disappeared.

"Are you alright?" Benson asked Margaret, knowing full well the girl was just fine. She still nodded and held onto her heart, catching her breath from the shock.

Benson looked over to Maellard and Tim to ask them the same question, but they were already gone. His eye moved over to the entrance of the restaurant and saw them running out the door. Benson looked at Margaret and knew they should probably do the same.

He grabbed a hold of the girl's wing, and they were off.

* * *

><p>"Was that it?" Margaret asked as the world whizzed by them. "Was that the weird thing you all have been talking about so much?"<p>

"We've been calling it Bad News," Benson panted. "It seems like it's stalking the park staff, or at least Maellard, at this point."

"All those arms," she gasped, "and eyes too. What is that thing exactly?"

"Beats me!"

They both continued to sprint away. They didn't get too fair though. The food in their stomach was still fresh and made the two of them nauseated after a few minutes. They stopped in front of an ice cream parlor to rest. Neither of them felt like anything sweet and sugary at that moment.

They dropped onto a bench and tried their very best to cool down. Benson made sure to look around all sides to make sure nothing had followed them. The coast seemed clear, but the night sky had come, the clouds obstructed the light of the stars and moon, so he was still on his toes. The last thing he wanted was to have his date ruined by some ruthless and never ending monster that just wouldn't leave well enough alone.

It was then that he realized he just thought of this experience as an actual date: and with the exception of having to run away from Bad News, it was going alright.

"This has been a pretty eventful night," Benson wheezed.

"Definitely," Margaret agreed.

"Better than any date you've ever been on?" Benson asked, curving up a tiny grin for her.

She laughed between pants and shrugged. "I think that one with Mordecai and the solids was a little more exciting, but this one at least has successfully knocked the wind out of me."

Benson joined in her laughing, and they both sat back and relaxed.

"You know," she continued, "this actually has been a lot of fun so far, though a little creepy. Maybe we should go quit while we're still ahead."

"Why do you say that?" Benson asked. "Compared to how the night is going, I think it can only get better from here."

Margaret looked up at the clouds and shook her head. "I can't believe you even want to do anything else after seeing that thing."

"I'm used to it," he replied. "We get crap like that just about every week it seems like. Plus, we've dealt with that thing two… well, three times now. Turns out it's got some sort aversion to fire. I don't know, to be honest. Skips knows more about this thing than any of us."

"I'm surprised you're so calm about this," the red robin sighed. "I mean the way you handled yourself in there was amazing. I think I kind of fell for you a little bit when you confronted that thing so easily." She gave him a joyful expression which was than quickly wiped away as his mind began to wander. "I think maybe that's why I should head home."

Benson tilted his head toward her. "Because you're starting to develop a crush on me?"

"Well, that's one reason," she answered. "There's others too. And I don't want to break your heart or anything like that. I know it sounds funny, but there's a reason so many of my previous dates never want to speak to me again."

"Can I ask why?"

"I'd rather you didn't," she sighed. "I think it's best if I just kept it to myself. I just don't want to get my hopes up, only to have them crushed. Not only that, but I would probably hurt your feelings too."

"Believe me, Margaret; it's hard to get my feelings hurt. Did you forget who I dated?"

She nodded. "That woman has nothing but bad things to say about you, ya know."

"She's the worst kind," Benson groaned.

"She's stupid too," Margaret went on, "for letting someone like you slip away."

They both exchanged a pleasant expression and looked quietly into each others eyes. Margaret quickly looked away though, not wanting her emotions to get the best of her. She made up her mind that this wasn't a good idea anymore. She liked Benson too much for him to know anything else about her. She favored that new found friendship they had. Her heart was flip flopping from one decision to the next. Part of her desperately wanted it to end and have things return to the usual status quo, enjoying her friendship with the gumball machine. On the other hand, she really wanted to take things a step further.

But she wouldn't. Her heart had made the wrong decisions too many times before, and it always ended with her having to put a bandage on the wounded area of it. And it always hurt. No matter how many times it happened, it always hurt. She needed to tell him or nothing else was going to happen.

"Look Benson," she started, looking up at him.

She was quickly interrupted as Benson leaned forward and gave her a brief, though heart filled, kiss on the beak. He wasn't sure how to approach it, so he leaned slightly to her side and pressed his glassy lips to the side of her beak. He pulled back with a half smile, and looked at her for an answer.

Margaret was shocked. He must really like her. But her decision still stood, no matter how hard her heart beating, and no matter how fast and reckless her thoughts grew.

"Listen Benson, it's not-"

"Feathers," he said right out of the blue.

"Feathers?" she repeated. She looked at the feathers on her arms, and glanced at Benson confused. "What about feathers?"

"I like them," he said tenderly. "I like the red of them. They're very bright and open. They have a lot of personality… like you."

"Benson," she cooed. "This can't happen."

"Lets go dancing," he said standing up. "That'll help make you feel a bit better, I'll bet!"

Margaret tried to argue, but Benson offered his hand to her and beamed a comfortable smile down onto her. She melted slightly at that sweet and compassionate gesture. She instinctively took the cold metal hand, and was brought up.

There was a glint in Benson's eye. Margaret noticed it as she stood. But as soon as she was completely on her feet, it was gone. She pondered what it meant, and what Benson's intentions were, but didn't let them bother her so much. Whatever he was planning, it made her feel good about herself, even if it hurt a little bit too. He led her on, down the street to some unknown destination, with her body and soul brimming with excitement and her heart slowly building up to an eventual break.

Emotional temporary relief was all she had at the moment. She took what she could get. And besides, when was the last time someone like this made her feel like a teenager again?

**The Girl - **_City and Colour_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

What a cute chapter to write – certainly one to make you all bubbly inside. You know, it's easier to write Margaret here compared to Triangles considering she's gotten a little extra development since that story in the actual show. For some reason, I always enjoy writing with her. There's just something about her character.

I am a little worried about the next chapter though, as I do play around with her character more so than most people are used to. I say that lightly mind you. I wouldn't be surprised if I lost a reader or two from it. Not so much for Margaret or anything, but more so the writing. I may just be overreacting, but, I enjoyed writing it, so we'll see.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	13. Margaret The Beautiful Girl

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Margaret: Beautiful Girl**

One of the perks to being a park manager is that you had access to events and activities that were usually happening in or around the park. Maellard would often times request that Benson and his team work somewhere around the city, usually for someone he knew or was trying to impress. Often times, it was also a ploy to gain the trust of a potential enemy before destroying them completely. This was of no concern to Benson however. Whatever his employer decided to do on his free time was his own business and no one else's. Luckily for Benson, where he and Margaret were going had nothing to do with Maellard.

Margaret looked down the street, and noticed the stone wall of the park in the distance. She knew this area all too well, but had never really explored it. Benson looked up at a small building, a muffled beat coming from behind the door. There must have been some sort of big party going on, but Margaret wasn't paying attention to that. There were small glimmers of light coming from the park: strange glows that slowly built and quickly died down.

"Skips must still be performing that ritual," Benson said, noticing her interest in the lights.

The girl nodded, unaware of what he meant. She knew that there was some sort of ritual that was supposed to get rid of that black gunk that kept attacking the park, and that Skips performed it on the staff the other day, but she wasn't there for that. She was still too mad at that damned Veronica to even care about what was happening to her friends. Selfish as it was, she had to get away from there and get some time to herself.

"How long is he supposed to keep doing that?" she asked as another small glow came from the park.

Benson folded his arms and shrugged. "I have no idea. I guess whenever he's done. Skips said that he should be finished with just about everything, at the most, sometime before the end of next week."

"He's working hard, isn't he?" Margaret commented.

"Well he is the hardest worker out of everyone at the park," Benson replied.

He observed the girl and noticed a growing sense of anxiety all around her. She was willing, yes, but there was something truly fearful inside her. Something was building, and she was too afraid to let it out to Benson, and he knew this. So far, their "date" had been fun, though rather odd. He wanted to make sure that the rest would be better. He took her by the hand, and quickly led her inside the building. Her eyes kept on the glow in the park until she could no longer see it.

The two walked through the lobby of the small building until they came to a pair of doors. Benson pushed against the large push handle of the door and flung them open. On the other side was a dimly lit room, lit up by rotating strobe lights, and quick flashes coming from a DJ booth in the corner. The room however, was filled with nothing but teenagers, looking doughy eyed into one another, stealing kisses and general making an attempt to control their libidos on the dance floor.

"What is this?" Margaret asked as she looked around the room.

"It's some high school's homecoming dance or something," Benson said looking around the room. "I'm not sure specifically what it is. But it is a dance, right?"

Margaret was speechless. This wasn't the dance she was actually expecting. Her idea was closer to one of the clubs downtown with a lot of loud blaring music and random strangers bumping into you, with one of stranger ones occasionally grinder up against a body. Someplace that was more uninhibited in its energetic restraint and where everyone, no matter how well you knew them, was a completely different person. She wanted to get lost in there and never come out. But this, on the other hand, was completely out of left field. It made her feel old, and brought about memories that harkened back to her days in high school; times she wanted to forget about.

"We can't be here," she said to Benson. "We're not students, and we're definitely not chaperones. Why don't we head down to Lazlo and Edward's downtown? I know the bouncer there! He can get us in no problem!"

Benson grinned at her. "Trust me. This is a lot better." His eyes wandered around the room some more, looking for something specific. He looked to the side, against the wall by the entrance. There was a table there, decorated and dolled out with big letters that said "dance registration" on it. Bracelets and clipboards with names were all over the place. The table was essentially an attendance station. And sitting there at said station, leaning back and barely paying attention to anything they were doing, were Muscle Man and High Five Ghost.

"Hey!" Benson said, catching there attention.

They knew that yell anywhere and quickly shipped up, looking in front of them to see their boss with the pretty lady from the café.

"What are you doing here?" High Five Ghost wailed in his usual distorted tone.

"That's what I'd like to know," Margaret said to both him and Benson.

"I thought you had the night off, Benson," Muscle Man yawned, stretching his arms out.

"I do. I'm here with my date," Benson quickly answered him. "We're just here to enjoy the dance."

High Five Ghost and Muscle Man looked at each other, a small sense of disgust over them. "Bro, these are like jail bait age kids," Muscle Man said to the gumball machine. "You're like, what, 35?"

"It's kind of creepy actually," the ghost moaned.

"Uh-huh," Benson said sarcastically with a nod. He looked behind the two and cleverly smirked. "The school that's funding this thing said they needed chaperones, and I happily agreed I'd share some if any of my employees needed the money."

"Yeah, so?" Muscle Man countered. "Fives and I are just sitting here taking role. We're not out there dancing with the high school chicks."

"I got in trouble for that once!" HFG added.

Benson's eyes kept looking at the two and then behind them. "What's that behind you?" he asked with the same smirk.

Muscle Man turned in his seat and smiled with anticipation. "That's all the beer and junk that the kids tried to sneak it. Fives and I confiscated it, and are gonna have a party of our own afterwards." The ghost and green tinted man then exchanged high fives and laughed. Muscle Man was about to add in a "my mom" joke, but then realized what Benson's smirk meant. He was still Muscle Man and High Five Ghost's boss, and knew ways to turn the tables on them.

The stout man bemoaned him and gave in. "Fine, you can stay. Just don't tell anyone about what we're doing with the booze. And you and her need to wear one of the green bracelets so they know you're a chaperone." He handed them the bracelets and folded his arms angrily.

Benson then took Margaret by the hand and walked away with his happily.

There were a few questionable glances when two adults that the kids had never seen decide to pierce the dance way, but they soon paid no mind when they saw the chaperone bracelets. They didn't seem too out of place either, as there were several other adults, some very old, cutting it up on the dance floor.

Margaret felt awkward. It was a such a strange feeling to be surrounded by people who were either still in high school, or could have passed for her parents. She was the delightful middle ground that stuck out the most. Benson actually stood out more though, being the only inanimate living thing there. A few of the kids gave a bizarre glare, having never seen a walking, talking, breathing gumball machine. But much their attention waned and they were once again brought back to their own little delights.

They stopped somewhere in the middle, where Benson offered his hand to the red robin. She looked at the piece of metal being offered to her and at first refused.

"Benson, this is… very sweet, but we really shouldn't be here," she whispered to him. Her voice could barely be heard over the music.

"You said you wanted to go dancing though," he replied.

"Well, originally I meant I wanted to go dancing somewhere downtown where we could get lost in the crowd."

"And make out where everyone could see us?"

A lump jumped up her throat, and she blushed. That usually ended up being what happened on a lot of her dates. A few drinks, a little touchy feely, and tongues were quickly intertwined with one another, usually surrounded by a group of drunk and happy dancing people. It was innocent, since nothing came from it mostly. Besides, it was usually what 60% of most people's dates in general turned into. But here, people were actually staring.

"That's that not the point!" she said. "The point is… I think I just want to go home."

"Why?" Benson asked. "Aren't you having a good time?"

"I am, Benson. Don't get me wrong. You're a really sweet and wonderful guy, and that's kind of why I don't want for us to get involved."

"Lemme guess: this is the part where you say, 'you're such a sweet guy. Why spoil out special relationship?' Did I get that right?"

"Oh no," Margaret quickly retorted. "I hated girls like that back in high school. They just said that because they were too embarrassed to actually let the guy down properly. I tried to be more honest with guys."

"How many guys did you date back in high school?"

"Well," Margaret trailed off, "none, to be honest. But there was a reason for that."

"Do you mind if I ask why?"

"I do actually. And I think I've told you before that I do mind when you ask stuff about my old life," she said, voice rising in frustration. "Needless to say, I was confused, like everyone else in high school usually is, so let's just drop it okay?"

Benson looked at her growing anxiety, and pulled his hand away. His plan had failed. There really wasn't much left to do there. They were probably the most out of place there, not for what they were, but for the fact that they were the only ones who weren't dancing around.

"I guess I should take you home," Benson sighed. He began to walk away, back toward the entrance. They had only been there about five minutes total before they decided to leave.

Margaret sensed the disappointment from Benson, and shame crept over her. She wanted desperately tell him, but she kept it in. She just didn't want to get her heart broken. But it didn't matter. Her heart was already breaking simply from how cruel she was acting to him. Benson didn't deserve this. He was already stressed out from everything as it was. He didn't need this on his plate.

"Hold on Benson," she yelled, following behind him. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He turned back at her with regretful eyes. She smiled down, and tried to reassure him. "What I'm doing right now – it's got nothing to do with you. So how about this, let's have one dance between the two of us, and then you can walk me home and we'll call it a night."

He thought about it, and accepted her generous offer of a single dance before breaking for the night. Perhaps this little get together could be salvaged after all. They quickly returned to their previous spot and began to shake a tail feather, or a metal rump, which ever the person it may be.

It started off simple, with the two of them dancing about each other, bopping around and just going along to the beat of the song. Margaret was surprised by how well Benson was able to dance. He was probably the best dancer out on the floor. His moves were fluid and flowed into one another with ease. Some of the dancers even gave him some extra space to let him do his thing. Benson always was a connoisseur of music, so in his studies of instruments and vocals, he learned to pick up a few moves. He would tell someone that he wasn't that great, but he was better than most people anyways.

A quick song change happened to something a little more violent and moody. The lights dimmed lower and a flash effect switched on, giving everyone a choppy movement. This was more Margaret's element, allowing for energy to come out without the worry of anybody seeing it. Benson watched what he could and became enthralled by the truly amazing dances she had. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but there was confidence and enthusiasm behind it. He just danced along beside her.

As he watched the girl dance, he noticed all the little details around him. The smiling children, the adults laughing at the strange light effects, and even Muscle Man and High Five Ghost talking about something random, possibly alcohol or music related, in the background. Even though the place seemed a little hectic and random, it was actually pretty relaxing. Benson paid no mind to the vocals of the song playing, and immersed himself into the strange electronic instrumental in the background. He shifted his eyes left and right, looking at all the happy students.

A quick flash, and something was there that shouldn't be. Then darkness. When the flash happened again, it was gone. Benson stopped in his dance. He didn't know what he saw at first. It was tall – taller than most of the kids there. It seemed maybe the same height if not only slightly taller than Margaret, who was oblivious to what Benson saw. He quickly looked around himself again, and in a flash, there it was again. In a split second it was gone though. Something was there, and he had a feeling he knew what it was.

It reappeared in a flash again, completely black, with no real form than a blob of darkness that no one noticed besides him. As the darkness swept over the room again, its form blended in. But in that split second of darkness, millions of illuminated eyes stared back at Benson, menacing and cruel. The light glow of the eyes caught some students nearby off guard and they backed away in fright. The figure was gone again, off to another part of the room, joyfully giggling under the music.

Margaret was beginning to notice the tension building in the room, and stopped her movement as well. Half the room had followed along and most of the students were busy trying to track down the constantly moving figure bustling around the room.

The song ended, and the lights came up. On the stage next to the DJ was Bad News in all of his dark glory. All of his eyes and arms were out and ready to strike. Everyone looked up at the stage with wonderment and fear.

"Boooooooo," it wailed.

This was enough to send most of the room into a tizzy, most of the students running for the door or the side of the room to try and get away from the unmoving creature. Margaret grabbed a hold of Benson and tugged hard on him to get away. He didn't move. His eye was twitching angrily. This thing had decided to make its appearance twice now and ruin his date. No no. He was going to have none of this. He stepped to the side, with Margaret following along, picked up a folding chair, folded it up, and chucked it toward the stage. The chair crashed into it, and it phased through the creature without so much as a dent.

"Hellloooooooo agaaaaaaaiiiiiiiin," it hissed at it began to crawl off the stage and toward Benson and Margaret. It latched its bladed nails into the floor and dragged itself closer to them.

"What do we do?" Margaret whispered into Benson's ear.

"We should probably run," he answered quickly.

They both turned around to see Muscle Man and High Five Ghost make their own beeline for the door. Two arms lashed out though and barricaded them inside. It was just them and creature now. Luckily, all the students had gotten out, so Maellard wouldn't have to worry about a lawsuit, but there was still this thing to tackle.

"Ugh," Muscle Man grimaced, "is that the thing that threw up on me a few weeks ago?"

"What do you think!" Benson yelled, a slight panic in his voice.

Muscle Man grabbed a folding chair of his own and brought it close to him as a weapon. High Five Ghost balled his fist up, seeing as he could find no one handed weapon around, and got ready. Neither HFG or Muscle Man had dealt with this thing before, so all they knew of it was descriptions of what it was and what it does. They knew that it was dangerous and was a bit on the sadistic side.

"Well I'm not gonna let it do it again to me," Muscle Man frowned.

"Weeeeeeeeeeeell," Bad News trailed, "someone cerrrrrrrrrrrrtainly thinnnnnnnnnnnks their hot shiiiiiiiiiiiiit."

An arm lashed out at Muscle Man, and disarmed him of his chair, splitting the piece of metal in half. Muscle Man quickly grabbed another one, which was dispatched just as fast. The monster laughed hideously, enjoying the futile efforts of the stout green man.

High Five Ghost lunged forward and gave the creature a quick punch to one of its eyes. It too laughed at the futility and flicked the ghost toward a wall. A hand pinned him there, keeping him out of the picture.

"Fives!" Muscle Man yelled to his best friend. He tried to get to him, but was back handed by the monster, knocking him on his stomach, and knocking all the air right out of his lungs. "Not cool… bro…"

Fear inside Margaret began to build and her thoughts were slowly becoming muddled. "How did you kill this thing back at the park?" she shrieked.

"I didn't!" he yelled back. "Skips was the one who took care of it! I just rammed into the thing and hoped that would do it!"

"What about fire? Back at the restaurant you took that thing out with fire!" She looked around the room for anything that could possibly be used to create a flame. Unfortunately, the only things available were the lights above their heads and the DJ booth, and there was no way she or anyone else in there could be ingenious enough to use those.

She and Benson took a few steps back, trying to assess the situation as best they could. High Five Ghost's voice muffled as he struggled desperately to get out of the creatures grasp, while Muscle Man tried with all his might to recover and go after the thing again. Bad News simply laughed at the four of them and lashed out arms in all directions, lodging onto the ceilings and walls.

It shook violently, pieces of itself splashing onto the floor. These blobs grew sentient of themselves and laughed just as maniacally, dragging themselves closer to the group. An army of Bad News began to rush them, coming faster and faster toward them. The creatures stared them down with pleasure of knowing that each and every one of them was going to be taken out, one by one. They laughed at how they were going to pull each and every feather off of Margaret's body and break her beak. They laughed at how they planned to eviscerate Muscle Man and pull his organs out as he watched. They laughed at the thought of exorcising High Five Ghost, dragging him into the pits of some sort of hell to suffer forever. And they laughed hideously as they wished to taken over Benson's gears and body and erode him with the inside out.

Benson and Margaret found themselves against the wall, High Five Ghost still pinned, and Muscle Man only barely active. The girl clung to Benson in fear for her life, and he did the same with her. The darkness was spreading all over the room, creating an infinite void in front of them: an oblivion that once stepped into, all that would be known is fear and pain. It crept closer and closer: twenty feet from them, eighteen, eleven, nine, four…

Eventually, the only bit of light and salvation left was the light squeezing in through the door, and that too was eventually overtaken.

There was a quiet as the darkness engulfed them. They remained where they were, afraid if they moved that it would snatch them away. Small voices could be heard echoing in the distance. They were familiar voices; voices of people they knew in the past and present. They only heard the voices they knew though.

Margaret and Benson suddenly found themselves being violently pulled apart, an earthquake between the two of them, causing their grasp to dissolve and them getting thrown to opposite directions. They both tried to scream, but the darkness silenced them completely.

Benson had already suffered through the darkness one time before. He hoped he wouldn't have to go back at in, but apparently, the fates were cruel. The voices around him got louder. These voices – made up his old friends, workers, former lovers, family, what have you – all spoke at the same time, loudly, making it difficult for him to understand what they were saying. Some of them made snide comments about the fact that he was a gumball machine, and others accused him of being a freak. He heard his parents telling him that they had no time for him with work and everything, only to be followed up by Maellard screaming that he wasn't working hard enough. A sad Pops moaned about why Benson never smiled enough and if it was his fault because of that. Mordecai and Rigby's laughter erupted from everywhere as they gleefully insulted him. Muscle Man and High Five Ghost told him how idiotic and trusting he was of them, adding that they never did their work, and always lied to make sure he trusted them. They were loud, blaring, and unrelenting in their insults… but they didn't affect Benson.

He gritted his teeth and yelled as loud as he could through the darkness. No sound came out, but the yells ceased, save for a mumble from what sounded like Skips. It seemed like it whispered a sound that started off as "p" but Benson couldn't be sure. He could have sworn he heard a "s" and "e" as well. He was surrounded in blind and deaf silence again. His yeti friend wasn't going to help him this time.

He groped around the darkness, reaching out for anything that could be a solid form. He took a few running steps forward and ran into a chair, falling over. That told him he was at least still inside the dance hall, and not some freaky alternate dimension where all his worst fears were coming true. One thing was for sure, if he met up with some alternate backwards named version of himself he'd just start slamming his dome against the floor until he was dead. He rolled his eyes at the thought. He had been watching too many of Mordecai and Rigby's horror collection.

Something then fell beside him, sending a vibration through the darkness. He reached out and felt for the direction it came from. His fingers slid onto the foreign object and tried to get a good feel for it. It didn't take him long to recognize the long smooth feathers of a bird. He called out Margaret's name, only for it to speak out in silence again. He quickly grabbed a hold of her, and felt his body go light.

Suddenly the two of them were falling. No wind passed them by though, so it was almost as if they were floating. But Benson knew they were going somewhere. It wasn't always that simple.

Something opened up right beneath them and the two toppled onto a grassy earth. Benson didn't let the impact affect him. He jumped onto his feet with one hand still on Margaret and looked around.

They had landed on a soft grassy area, a few trees placed around them, with a partially cloudy sky overheard. They were in the park. How did they get from the dance hall to the park?

"_Cough"_

Something sounded behind Benson. He looped around and found Skips looking at both he and Margaret with abhorrent surprise. The gumball machine pondered why he was looking at them with such a disgusted expression, until he realized that both Margaret and Benson were covered from head to toe in that terrible black glop. Benson sighed and looked up. What seemed to be a trapdoor in the sky leading to blackness, closed itself up, and let out a brief chuckle.

"I'll win this thing eventually," Bad News bellowed to itself. "Just give it a little more tiiiiiiiiiiiiime..." It's voice faded away, and then it was gone.

Benson's expression remained neutral. He was surprised that the thing had decided to let them go, and he wondered for what reason, but just didn't care at that second. He looked down to Margaret and found her barely conscious, muttering something to herself that seemed to draw her into a mood. Benson held worry for her, mostly because she too was covered in the ooze. He knew what he had to do. He gazed up at Skips and muttered a quick, "hi."

* * *

><p>Benson collapsed on the couch in the park house. He rubbed his dome with the towel around his shoulder, trying to get the shower water off him. He could still hear the sounds of the running shower faucet upstairs with Margaret inside, having to get that stuff off of her. Benson wished that she didn't have to suffer through that. She didn't deserve it. The "date" was a colossal failure, and a painful reminder of how pathetic his love life was.<p>

Skips was in the kitchen, sipping on some coffee (his eighteenth glass for the day), awaiting Margaret to get cleaned up so he could take Benson and Margaret outside and have the ritual performed on them. The yeti wasn't happy at all that he had to do it to Benson again, but it was his job, and he did enjoy helping his friends out of a bind. He wasn't feeling particularly talkative though. This may have been caused by the insane amount of media attention he had been getting, with reporters begging him for an interview. He was the man who beat up Connor Wong, after all.

Benson smiled as he thought about the last night's events. They put a content grin on his face and put him at ease for the moment. He leaned back in the couch and waited for the red robin to come down.

Her footsteps sounded a call to him about fifteen minutes later. She was already redressed in her clothes with a glint of gloom stuck in her eyes. Benson knew she probably wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep the memory of this night off. God only knows what Bad News did to her in there. Benson wouldn't be surprised if she never wanted to see him again.

She sat down next to him on the couch and sighed. "I think I need a new lease on life." She smiled at him and rubbed his shoulder.

Benson was pleasantly surprised. He wasn't expecting such a warm reaction. There was still a feeling of depression behind her, but Benson didn't want to pry. She needed support.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like high school," she murmured.

"High school?" he said questionably.

She shook her head and sighed again. "Yeah, like when you're in class and all the kids are teasing and bullying you, and making you feel worse than nothing? It's kind of that feeling when you get home, and you're still feeling the after effects of it. That's the best way for me to describe it anyways."

"I guess Bad News hit you pretty hard, huh?"

"The worst, I think." It took her a moment to realize that what she said was a selfish thing to say with company around. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply…"

"It's alright," he interrupted. "It didn't hurt me as bad as you think. I'm used to all the negative things people say about me. I just take it and let it run its course. Maybe that's what makes me such a good park manager."

"That's kind of sad, actually," Margaret commented.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean it's sad that you just let it hit you, and take it all in. I'm a little envious that you can let that happen without being hurt or anything, but it just seems a little sad is all."

"Well, I guess I'm a sad person overall, when you think about it," he mentioned.

"I don't think so. I think you just get stressed easily and have a lot on your plate. You should slow down a bit and enjoy life."

"You mean like tonight's date?" he added.

That broke their conversation. Neither of them liked what had happened, and there was barely anything the other could say that would change the events of the night. Both things they did, they were attacked by the same damn creature, and it ruined everything.

Benson groaned and stood up from the couch. He offered his hand down to Margaret again, as he did before outside the ice cream parlor.

"What are you doing?" Margaret asked.

"We're gonna have an actual dance," he replied. "No Bad News, no dance hall, just a dance."

She shook her head and dismissed him at first, but he wasn't going to take no for an answer again. He snatched her wing and brought her up. She was about to object, but let it happen. She wasn't sure what to expect, but went along with it. Besides, she was too exhausted to argue otherwise.

They slow stepped along, trying to cut the awkward feeling of it. It was certainly bizarre and out of place, but eventually, the two of them settled it and go to enjoy it.

"Sorry," Benson apologized. "I know this is weird."

"It's alright," Margaret reassured him. "After a hectic night like tonight, something slow like this works well enough."

"Having fun at least?"

"I wouldn't call it fun, but it's something quiet."

Benson let out a laugh and twirled her slowly. "So," he began again, "what DID Bad News say to you in there?"

"A lot of things," she answered. "Mostly crap I had to listen to growing up from just about everyone I knew. I didn't hear my mom though, so I was happy about that?"

"Why your mom?"

"She was always at least a little supportive of me, no matter what. My dad – not so much. I think he's a little bit more alright now, but... we still don't talk."

"Does this have to do with that thing you won't tell me?"

The girl grimaced. "You better believe it."

They continued to slow dance around the living room to nothing but the creaks of the wood and Skips solemn sipping of his coffee.

Benson spun her again and gave her a small grin. "So what's so special about this big secret of yours?"

"Can we just drop it?" Margaret snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why is that?"

"Because I don't want you looking at me different than you do now!"

"Why would it make me look any different at you?" Benson asked curiously.

"For the same reason all the other guys I've known look at me like that!" she replied. "And who knows what Mordecai would do if he found out."

"So you're just gonna stand there and say nothing to me?"

"That's the plan."

Benson frowned at her, but quickly brought himself back to a smiling expression. "Feathers," he said to her.

"Again?" she asked. "What is with you and my feathers?"

"I like them. They're interesting. Yours are especially interesting – really special."

"What's so special about my feathers?"

"They have something on them that make you unique."

He leaned down and dipped her. She gladly let him, but her face was growing frustrated by his obsession with her feathers. She was beginning to think he had some sort of fetish for them.

Margaret simply rolled her eyes at the sappy little speech. "And just what about my feathers makes me unique?" she quipped.

"What? You don't know?" Benson asked.

She shook her head and said, "I guess not. What is it?"

Benson smiled and leaned a little closer to her, as close to her ear as he possible could. He rubbed cheek against her beak, and let a tiny hot breath graze across the side of her face. She cooed, actually enjoying the sensation. She looked at his eyes, seeing romance and honesty inside them. The bird blushed passionately and listened to hear what he had to say.

Benson took a deep breath and said it.

"Female red robins don't have red feathers."

The relaxed and tender expression on her face was wiped as the words exited his mouth. Her mouth slightly opened, not really sure exactly what she could say. He had just come out and said it just like that, like it wasn't a big deal. Benson had just implied that she was actually a he.

"Well, actually," he continued, "the females have a duller shade compared to the males."

She pushed him away and out of his grasp. She fell to the floor, forgetting that she was in a dip, right onto her tail feathers. Every fiber of her being was in panic.

"How did…!" she coughed out. "I'm not… not any… Did Eileen...!"

"Calm down, Margaret," Benson tried to assure her.

She stuttered a few more words out before saying that she had to leave. Her body shook and trembled as she tried to process everything that flowed through her mind. She found herself losing the feeling in her legs and was only able to get about two steps before she had to grab a hold of something to keep from falling.

"Need some help?" Benson asked, concerned.

"No I think I can stumble home in embarrassment and humiliation on my own," she answered shakily.

The gumball machine rolled his eyes and approached her, taking her by the hand and bringing her back to the couch. Her body fell onto it like a rock. She wasn't sure what to say or even do. She looked over at Benson and curved her beak into a nervous, though flustered, grin.

"So, uh," Margaret started, "if you promise not to tell people about... 'that'... then I'll make sure you get free coffee for the rest of your life. How does that sound?"

Benson raised an eyebrow and scratched his chin in thought. "That is a tempting offer, but I have know idea what you're talking about." His voice had a quiet tone in it as it rolled out of his throat. He smiled slyly.

Margaret didn't know what he was getting at. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," she said through her teeth. "How would you even know about that stuff?"

"Mordecai mentioned it," Benson replied. "He thought it made you look a lot cuter. If that slacker actually had the intelligence to look up stuff like that on the internet, he'd probably know too." He looked at her from head to shaky toe. "I'll admit it is kind of weird."

Margaret's face turned a brighter red than of her feathers. The heat of humiliation was brimming all over her face. "Weird... it's better than freak at least."

"Why would anyone call you a freak?" Benson asked as he rested his hands behind his head. "Because you're a girl and have red feathers?"

"What?"

"It's a little weird, but I don't think that makes you a freak..."

"Benson, what are you...?"

"I'll bet you're the only female red robin on the planet with red feathers this nice!" he said enthusiastically. "Hey! I got to go on a date with the only female red robin with bright red feathers, not the dull brown kind. That's pretty neat! What do you think?" He turned toward her with an honest expression on him, looking sweetly into her eyes.

She stared back in fear, unsure if he was serious or not. But that look he was giving her told the red robin that he was sincere in his words. He just let it roll off his back so easily without a care in the world. "Benson," she said, starting to sob slightly.

He cocked his head to the side and awaited an answer. But instead of saying anything else, she rubbed the forming tears out of her eyes and lunged forward to give him a hug. He returned the embrace. In the kitchen, Skips peered to them from the doorway and gave a brief smile before leaving.

"I'm sorry," Margaret said, pulling away. "I shouldn't be getting this emotional, but... I mean. I just believe that you really don't care... and did you say you got this information off the internet?"

Benson nodded apologetically.

Margaret laughed and buried his face into her hands with exhaustion. "Well that figures," she said. "I'll bet you money that's how Michelle found out too. I don't think Eileen would betray my trust and tell her."

"Eileen knows too?" Benson asked.

The bird nodded and took in a deep breath. "She knew... umm... since like the first week she started working at the Coffee Shop. She and I have had an odd history and relationship to say the least. But she's really sweet about it and treats me like one of the girls."

Benson shuffled on the couch and listened to the girl. "Why shouldn't she?" he asked.

"There's always that lingering voice in the back of your head making you think that your friends are up to no good behind your back. This was kind of a big deal, so I always worried that she might have been flapping her gums when she shouldn't be."

"Well she's you're best friend, right? You should trust her."

"I know," Margaret laughed. She wondered about something and stared awkwardly at Benson. "Why are you so calm about all of this?"

Benson shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I've grown up around much stranger things in my life. Maybe it's because I've lived a crappy existence and this stuff is nothing. Then again, it may also be because of this." He then flipped his finger against the metal flap on his body. It bounced up and dropped in the gravity.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Margaret asked with a slight bit of confusion.

"I guess probably because I'm not technically a male. I'm not technically a female either. I'm both and not at all. That's the thing about being a machine: you really aren't anything. You're just who you believe you are. In my case, I'm an angry and stressed out man who happens to be a gumball machine and is the manager of the city park. It's that simple. Just like it's that simple for you. You're Margaret, the girl who works at the Coffee Shop. And probably one of the most beautiful girls I've ever met."

Margaret blushed, and thanked him.

"That's just who both of us are," Benson added. "I'm the guy who's out on a date with the only red robin girl in the world with bright red feathers. I think that's pretty cool!"

"Alright alright," Margaret laughed, holding up her hands to try and stop him. "I get the point. Thank you."

"Of course," Benson said as he got up from the couch. "C'mon. Skips needs to do that stupid ritual on us so the rest of Bad News gets out of our system. You're are gonna hate it."

She frowned and stood up. "I'm sure it's not too bad, right?"

Benson only laughed at her and walked toward the kitchen. The back door was already open. Skips was outside on the porch, waiting for the two of them to finish up.

"Hey Benson," Margaret yelled catching up. "Are you doing anything else this week? I'd like to try the date thing again. You know, this time without the whole Bad News and my issues looming over our head. What do you say?"

The gumball machine smiled, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "It's not gonna happen, Margaret," he told her.

Her expression grew disappointed. "Is it because of..."

"No, it's not that," he assured her. "It's just that... I'm too old for you."

She grinned and folded her arms. "I'm 23!" she protested. "What are you? 35? 36?"

He laughed to himself and looked her directly in the eyes. "I'm 68, Margaret."

The girl stood there in disbelief for a few seconds before busting out into laughter. Benson just kept on surprising her. He had been doing his best to make sure she had the perfect date, and just get the humor coming. But his sly grin seem to suggest otherwise. Margaret's eyes shot open wide in surprise.

"You're serious?" she coughed.

"Maybe," he said, winking to her before approaching Skips. He got in position inside a large bucket Skips had to collect the residual ooze that was going to pour out of the gumball machine.

"But how?" Margaret asked. "Does that mean you can live forever?"

Benson shrugged and grinned to her. "As long as I keep myself up to date. Who knows? Maybe I can."

Margaret shook her head in disbelief. She could believe it. This night definitely had to be one of the top three experiences of her life. She smiled in the end and yelled out, "well I got some news for you!"

"And what's that?" Benson asked.

"I don't date older men!"

They both laughed, and then Skips began to dance.

**Beautiful Girl – **_POE_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

So what does everyone think? It certainly was a thrilling and cute chapter overall though. I'm rather curious as to what people think of that little bombshell of Margaret's. I think the fandom has had jokes about it at great length before, but I really wanted to try and be serious about it. I hope I wrote it right. Other than that, what a fun chapter overall!

_Until Next Chapter.._

_Adieu..._


	14. The Plan

**Chapter Fourteen**

**The Plan**

The days following Benson's "date" with Margaret went by with smooth sailing it seemed like. Skips told him first that he had finished purifying the park of whatever was left of Bad News, and Benson happily passed the information on to Maellard. Their boss was content and expected them to return to work starting Monday, giving them an extra two days off before going back. It surprised all of them to see that Maellard was giving them the time off, but aside from being surprised by his desert some nights ago, the old man was still in a good mood. When Benson visited him, he noticed the interview with Connor Wong playing on a loop in the background. It gave Maellard an overwhelming sense of joy every time.

Other than that, Benson spent the few days after his date relaxing and just lounging around a bit. He even invited Margaret over to hang out for a bit on the occasional times he didn't feel like being alone. She even brought Eileen one time during the week, which was both a hilarity and hindrance, considering all the mole girl ever did was talk about Rigby. She was adorable at least, and Margaret liked her well enough. Benson bit his tongue about asking anything from their past though, and kept things in the present. Though, Margaret could definitely tell he wanted to ask, she was happy to see him restrain himself.

On the first of their final two days off, Benson had come up with the idea for a park get together to see how everyone enjoyed their time off. The last time the entire staff had been together was back at the Coffee Shop with the kiddy pool and the ritual. Benson thought it might be a good idea to get everybody up to speed and just enjoy the evening off without any issues.

All over Benson's kitchen counter were various menus and advertisements for local restaurants and hotspots. He, Skips, and Pops looked over all of them trying to figure out the best venue for the group to enjoy. There were gourmet restaurants on boats, dance clubs in the middle of the city, mini-golf, horseback riding, bars, and just a never ending plethora of locales. The three of them all had their favorites, but knew it wouldn't appease everyone.

Margaret sat in the background in Benson's favorite chair, her attention shifting from the television to the three men in kitchen, which was just a little nook in the living room anyways. "Is it really that hard for you all to just find a place and stick with it?" she asked. "I mean, why not just go back to one of the places you've all been to before?"

"It's not that easy," Benson said, flipping through another page. "Everyone has their own likes and dislikes. It's hard to figure out just one place to go to. And we really can't go back to some of the places we've been to before."

"Why is that?" Margaret asked, standing from her seat. "Did you guys do something to upset the management?"

Benson smirked and turned around, leaning against the counter with his eyes set on the red robin. "Weeeeeeeell… there was that time where we got banned from the karaoke bar for starting a brawl, and the time we got banned from the comic book store because Mordecai and Rigby nearly killed the cashier, and then we got banned from that one restaurant because Skips actually ruined one of their tables… oh and he killed Rigby in the process…"

With each passing explanation, Margaret's face grew more shocked and amazed. Her jaw dropped just a little bit more with each passing word, and a thought in the back of her head made her glad she didn't really start dating Benson. Though, she scrubbed that aside and told herself that, given the opportunity, she'd date him in a heartbeat… even if he was a few decades older than her.

"Wait a minute," she suddenly caught, "Skips killed Rigby?"

The yeti turned his head slightly to see her in his vision. He shrugged and said, "it's a long story," before turning back to all the flyers and menus with Pops.

"I'll bet," Margaret uttered with little surprise in her voice.

Benson laughed at her attempt to understand them, and eventually returned to the task at hand.

"Oh oh!" Pops gasped, grabbing a paper on the counter. "How about this one? Willace's Pizza and Party Fun Land! Oh, doesn't it sound so delightful?"

Benson and Skips looked at the paper; its contents filled with brightly colored childish drawings of anthropomorphic animals and strange creatures with pictures of the actual place, covered in arcade games and a random ball pit. The two rolled their eyes. It definitely was up Pops alley, but they weren't so sure about everyone else.

"Ugh," sounded from Margaret's direction. She walked over to the three men and took the flyer from them. "I know this place," she said with disgust. "They employ anthros and pay them below minimum wage to dance around for kids. It's really degrading. They did a news piece on it a couple months ago. I think their in the middle of a lawsuit or something with one of their workers."

"Oh my," Pops lowly said. "I had no idea – those poor workers."

"Yeah," Margaret agreed, "take Mordecai and Rigby there and watch them blow up in anger. Even if it is their thing, they'd still be pretty pissed off from it. I know I would be."

"Probably except Rigby," Skips laughed. "He'd probably want to work there."

The four shared a laugh at the expense of the raccoon and tossed the flyer in the trash.

"We still have no idea where to go though," Benson said as he massaged the back of his neck. "It should be somewhere where we can all have fun, and have little to no chance of being kicked out for doing something stupid."

A light bulb shined over Margaret's head. She knew exactly where they could go. "I know a place!" she announced to the group. "I can't tell you exactly where it is… but I know you all will have fun!"

The three men looked at her with interest.

"What kind of place is it?" Skips asked.

"It's a fun place!" she said with gusto. "I can't really tell any of you about the place either. It's sort of well known, and I think if you guys knew the place, you wouldn't want to come."

Benson and Skips' mind ran ludicrous as they tried to list all of the undesirable locations in their brains. There was just too many though, and they couldn't quite figure out a specific locale. Pops, on the other hand, thought of someplace filled with all of his wildest nightmares come to life and trying to hurt him and all of his friends. They all exaggerated their thoughts of where she could mean. But could you blame them?

"I don't know," Benson sighed. "I think we'd be more inclined not to go if we didn't do proper research on it first."

"Trust me!" Margaret said to him. "You guys will have fun! All of us at the Coffee Shop go when we do our get-togethers every month. It's a lot of fun, I swear!"

"You sure?" Skips asked her.

She nodded and kept the smile on her face. "I guarantee you will! All the girls and I were going anyways tomorrow night, and you guys should come too. We can call it a… umm… evening with the city businesses! And the fact that I'm going will get Mordecai to come, and Rigby will tag along with him obviously. And you can tell Muscle Man and High Five Ghost that there are a bunch of different booze and ladies they can hit on. And I know you trust my judgment, Benson… at least I think you do…"

"I do," Benson encouraged her, though he wasn't looking forward to an evening with Veronica nearby. He shuddered at the prospect. The only thing that could make it any worse was if Maellard and his lackey tagged along. Luckily for him and the rest of the staff, Maellard never came to their get-togethers.

"So is that a yes then?" Margaret hoped.

The three men looked at each other nervously. Pops seemed a bit worried about the evening, but said if it was with his friends, he'd gladly go. Skips only said that he had done just about everything and gone to the shadiest of places, so this probably wouldn't phase him all that much. With the approval of those two, and the reasons Margaret gave him to convince the others, Benson agreed.

"Great!" she exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging the three of them. "I'll go talk to Michelle right now. Eileen's gonna be so excited! And you guys are gonna love it too! Michelle gets so drunk on these nights out, she turns into a completely different person!" Margaret grimaced for a moment and looked at Benson apologetically. "Sorry about Veronica though…"

"I'll survive," he moaned, "somehow."

"So it's good with everyone though?" Margaret asked one more time. They all nodded and she jumped for joy. "Okay then! I'm gonna leave and go get everything set up on my side. We'll all meet at the Coffee Shop tomorrow after we close. Does that sound good with you all?"

The three nodded and she once again smiled excitedly. "Okay! I'll see you all tomorrow!" She hugged the three of them again, giving Benson a friendly kiss on the cheek, and dashed out of his apartment.

"This probably won't end well," Benson sighed.

"When does it ever?" Skips asked, expecting no answer.

"I concur," Pops said with a slight grin.

The evening was set and the three found it their time to part ways until then. Benson followed Skips and Pops out to the street where the golf cart was. It still shocked the gumball machine to see Skips favor the cart over the truck or station wagon outside the park.

"You two have a goodnight, alright?" Benson asked of them.

Pops laughed and nodded enthusiastically. Skips said nothing. He looked down at the steering wheel with something lost on his face.

"You okay, Skips?" Benson asked him, patting him on the shoulder.

"Yeah," the yeti sighed, "just… been thinking a lot of about the park, and Bad News, and all that stuff. I don't like not knowing what's going to happen next, or a proper solution to prevent it."

Benson could feel the worry in the beast's voice, and continued to pat him on the shoulder. "Well, you said you knew enough about it, like how to subdue it, remember? Maybe we can find a way to kill it from that…"

Skips glared at his employer. It stuck onto Benson, striking some strange fear into the machine's gears. "It can't be killed," Skips muttered angrily.

"You think so?" Benson asked nervously.

"I know so!" the yeti snapped. He quickly put the cart into drive, and sped off with the surprised Pops in the passenger side.

Benson stood on the sidewalk, a feeling of confusion over him. He watched the cart make its way toward the park, carrying a suddenly angry yeti and a probably terrified Pops. It wasn't as if Benson could blame him for feeling that way. Bad News made a mess of the park, attacked his friends, and just kept showing up at the most inopportune of times. It was a damned annoying thing, and it didn't stun Benson too much that even Skips was getting angry over the whole thing. Maybe tomorrow nights event would cool him down. Benson sighed and stepped back into his apartment. He felt like a nap. For some reason, he was feeling surprisingly tired…

Tired…

Tired…

Tired…

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It was too much work to have to hire on help for the park. He and Pops must have gone through at last fifty different applicants that day, and it was always the same thing: they wanted to work, they were willing to work with others, willing to learn, blah blah blah. It was the same thing that most employers heard when they interviewed potential candidates.

It was getting pretty late in the day. The sun had begun to overstay its welcome, and waned off into the distance. Pops and Benson couldn't tell though. They were both inside, applications and resumes strewn all over the coffee table in the living room. Some of them were accompanied with photos, and some of them with glamour shots. Some of there potentials really needed that job if they were willing to make a song and dance out of it. But the city was going through an economic crunch at the moment, so jobs around town were scarce.

Benson looked over at Pops, sitting on the chair snoozing along in a nap. He wondered what his boss was dreaming about. Whatever it was, it must have been good. Pops gave the occasional smile as a sliver of drool trickled down his face.

Benson felt like sleeping himself. He had no idea these interviews and the hiring process were so involved. If he had known that before, he probably would have volunteered to work on the park all day instead of Skips. The yeti should have been finishing up right about then. Benson hoped he'd get there soon. He could use the extra feedback on one of the applicants.

He took a look at the application again, as well as the tattered resume with it. He and his friend had actually decided to apply together on the same sheet. They were a strange duo by the photo they had provided: a stout green skinned man, and his ghostly companion. They seemed to be the most qualified for the job though, even if their interview was a little… bizarre.

Benson placed the application and resume back on the table and spread himself across the couch. He needed a nap. His mind was screaming for rest, even if his body was more than willing to get outside and run about. Just a few minutes out should do it. Then he can wake up Pops and they can continue on. Benson shuffled himself on the couch, crossed his arms and fell into a slumber.

But the moment he fell asleep, he could feel someone touching him. He felt a finger trace across his arm, and then onto his shoulder. It left a prickly sensation all along his arm, and caused the man to shutter from the feeling. Benson wanted to be left along so he could sleep, and no one was giving him that. He had only just closed his eyes and someone was already toying with him. The creeper placed its hand onto his shoulder, and softly shook him. Benson could have ignored it, but he knew it must have been something important.

He opened his eyes and saw a mildly content yeti staring down at him. The smile on his face told Benson that he had gotten some joy out of playing with him.

"What is it, Skips?" Benson groaned. "I just now laid down to rest. Is it important?"

"Not really," the yeti said, "and you didn't just lay down. I've been here for the past hour or so. I decided to let you and Pops nap while I did my own thing."

Benson groggily sat up. His body suddenly felt weak and restless. He must have just instantly dozed off as soon as his head hit the couch cushion. He scratched the top of his head and looked around the room for a clock. Sure enough, it had been a little under two hours since he was last awake. The sun had completely set outside and it was only then that Benson noticed the only shine coming into the room was the kitchen light. He whiffed at the air, and smelled something refreshing to his empty stomach.

"You went and got pizza?" Benson asked Skips.

Skips nodded and pointed his head to the direction of the kitchen. "Pops and I already had a few slices. We saved the rest for you."

"Why didn't you wake me sooner?" the tired man said.

"Pops said you looked to peaceful in your sleep: like a baby," Skips laughed to himself. "I'll admit, you were kind of fun to watch. You toss and turn a lot."

Benson shrugged and popped his neck. "I've done that since I was a kid."

"What were you dreaming about?" the yeti pondered.

"Nothing; I haven't really dreamt of anything in a while."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know… Probably something screwed up in my past. And believe me when I say there's a lot of screwed up stuff in my past, there is A LOT of screwed up stuff in my past."

Skips let out a groan slip out of his lips and helped the machine to his feet. "We all got baggage," he said, following Benson to the kitchen.

Benson agreed and stepped into the kitchen. He frowned at the lukewarm pizza, and quickly placed some on a napkin and threw it into the microwave. He tapped the buttons for 45 seconds, and waited.

"So why were you sliding your fingers along my arm?" Benson asked as he counted down with the clock.

"Just wanted to feel ya," Skips shrugged.

"Feel me?" Benson repeated him. His face looked almost amused, almost terrified, but more curious as to why the yeti would even say or do something like that. "Why on Earth would you want to 'feel me'? That sounds kind of creepy, Skips."

"Not really," Skips explained. "I was going to wake you up anyways, and I've been a bit curious as to what you felt like."

"Why?"

"Just felt like knowing. I like to learn things. I've been alive a very long time, Benson. More than you can even imagine."

That unnerved Benson for some reason.

Skips continued: "And in the time I've been alive, I've learned a lot of things. I don't like not knowing something. I've met a few machine's here and there, but never really got to know any of them. So I was curious."

Benson wasn't sure what he was going on about. This was one of the only times in the few years he had worked at the park that he had ever seen Skips act in such a strange way. The only other times were on the yeti's birthday.

"And what did you find out?" Benson asked nervously.

"You're very cold," muttered Skips.

The microwave went off, surprising Benson and causing him to jump slightly. He slapped his forehead at how silly he made himself feel and retrieved his dinner. The cheese was still a bit bubbly, keeping him from taking a bite and filling his empty belly. He placed his food on the counter and prayed for it to cool faster.

"Are you surprised?" Benson wondered, continuing the conversation.

"Not really," answered Skips, "though something inside me thought you might have been a little bit warmer. You were ice cold."

"I'm made of steel and metal," the gumball machine explained as he knocked on his chassis. "My 'skin' stores heat and cold depending on the temperature usually. I always feel cold since I retain cold a lot easier than mammals. But if it's too hot or too cold, it really starts to affect me. Try touching me when it's below 45 degrees, or above 80. Your fingers won't like that one bit."

"Tongue to a flap post, huh?"

"You know, that actually happened to me one time growing up. Some kid in my class got really curious and decided to give me a lick when I wasn't looking. It took them thirty minutes to get that kid off me, and then they go and blame me for it." He laughed uncomfortably. "One of the most embarrassing moments of my life."

"We all have those," the yeti comforted.

Benson sighed and looked down at his pizza: Still too hot. "I have a lot of them," he said. "Far more stories than you can even imagine. I've been around the block a few times my self Skips; you aren't the only one who's seen a lot."

Skips smiled, wishing he could tell him right then and there what he was.

"That doesn't matter though," Benson snapped. "You know what I feel like now, so I hope you enjoyed it."

Where was this anger coming from all of a sudden? Skips didn't think he had done anything wrong. All he did was just see what Benson felt like. He explained himself and why he did it. So why was Benson so angry?

"What's got you in a mood?" Skips questioned the hungry man.

Benson was about to raise his voice, but as he was about to talk, it dropped to a whisper. "Its just weird is all Skips. It's weird that people would do that… without a reason."

"I gave you a reason!" the yeti argued.

"It's still weird!"

Skips almost wished he hadn't done anything. If he hadn't, the two of them wouldn't be standing there feeling awkward and dreading the silence between them.

"I'm sorry Skips," Benson quickly apologized. "Its just… really strange, is all. I don't really know how my body works, or what gives me life, or why it is that I get hungry, or need to shower, or use the bathroom, or do anything like that. I'm a machine. Most machines you see just aren't anything. Their lifeless bodies meant to do what they're told to do. It's weird to look at myself in the mirror and see a machine walking, talking, and staring back. It's even weirder when I see others like me."

"Well why not learn a little bit about yourself?" Skips asked.

Benson laughed as the idea. "It's not like I haven't thought about it before. I think I'm just worried about what I'll find out about people like me: Maybe that I'm not as emotional or 'normal' as everyone else. I really don't want to know what makes me tick."

"Why don't I look it up with you?" Skips continued to pester. "Then we can find out what you are together, and you won't feel so bad afterwards. And besides, 'normal' doesn't exist. How can you explain me? I'm a yeti. I think there's only a few of my species left on the planet… I think."

"You ever meet any of them? Benson inquired.

Skips nodded. "Quite a bit of them actually, but that was a long time ago. I haven't met any of them recently. What about you? Have you ever met any more inanimate living things?"

Benson nodded as well, though his was accompanied with a sad expression. "Twice," he sighed.

The yeti leaned forward with interest. "And…?"

"It didn't end well. One of them I fell in love with, and she broke my heart. The other one died because of me, and that just messed me up further."

"And then you just ended up here, right?"

Benson nodded again. He looked down at his pizza. It had gone cool again. He grunted and threw it back in the microwave. The gumball machine nearly punch his fist into the start button, unaware of just how angry he was. When his food began to heat from the glow, he grasped the countertop to keep him self stable, and leaned his head against the cabinet.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was doing there anymore. He had been working at the park for a few years at that point, and had accomplished nothing from it save for a place over his head and a few measly paychecks that usually went to food and bills. He hadn't dated, he hadn't done much socializing outside Pops and Skips, he hadn't tried to find a way to get more money or get promoted. He didn't even know who or what he was in general. It was comfortable at first, but he wasn't sure what do to then.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It moved over to the other shoulder with another hand replacing the one on his previous shoulder. Skips leered behind him. Benson wasn't sure what the look on his face way. Either way he didn't care. He felt a thumb graze along the back of his neck, sending warm little jolts down his body.

The microwave dinged, alerting the two that it was ready once again.

"I think I need a day off," Benson groaned.

"I think you need a lot more than that," Skips added as he wrapped his arms around the cold metallic man.

Benson flinched. The warm jolts suddenly sent sharp pain down his spine. He wanted Skips to stop. But at the same time, wished he wouldn't.

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Benson shivered uncomfortably, walked back into his empty apartment, and took a look around. The various flyers and menus were still all over the place, giving him a chore he honestly didn't feel like doing. He did it anyways. He didn't want the place to be cluttered like back at the park house. It gave him something to do anyways until the next day. He wondered where Margaret and the Coffee Shop girls were going to take them and only hoped that it would be fun and relaxing.

Though he had had plenty of time off, he hadn't been enjoying it. True, he had been relaxing post "date", but it still didn't make him happy. Something felt missing. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. It didn't hurt him, or depress him in any way or sort. It just left him thinking. He had a lot going on with work, and Bad News, and events, and everything else. He was stressed, and even on his days off, he still felt this way. Relaxed… but still stressed. He couldn't even begin to figure out a way to explain that.

When the flyers and menus were put up, and after the kitchen counters were given a quick wipe down, he stepped over to the TV and turned it on. He cycled through the few channels he had and quickly shut the device off only a minute later. He felt like talking with Skips and Pops and Margaret, even though they had just left. Something felt out of place, like there was something he needed to talk to them about, but couldn't quite figure out what it was. Maybe it was simply to talk about nothing, or maybe he just simply craved the companionship. Either way, he just felt off. But he anticipated tomorrow.

Yes… tomorrow was going to be a good day… somehow.

**The Plan – **_Low_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Originally, I didn't like this chapter all that much. It mostly just serves as a lead up to next week's chapter, which is the special guest written chapter. Upon rereading it though, I actually really like how this turned out. It's weird how you can look back on some of the things you did and find out your have a better appreciation for them. I think I'm really getting a bearing down on how Benson is written for the story at this point.

As I just mentioned, next week is going to be a guest written chapter written by my very good friend and Morby writer, DatRegularBro – author of "August". I hope you all enjoy the chapter, cause he did a fantastic job with it!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	15. Strobe

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Strobe**

_Guest Written by DatRegularBro_

"Oh god," Benson said as they parked their cart.

Skips sat in the passenger seat and chuckled to himself. He was surprised and excited with the location.

"This… this can't be right," Benson added, holding the printout map in front of his face.

"Looks about right to me," Skips said with a smirk. He got out of his seat and stretched his arms in anticipation.

"No, oh please god no," Benson said, banging his head lightly against the steering wheel.

Skips started walking toward the entrance of the place, already bobbing his head to the music that blared out of its brick walls.

"Skips wait," Benson said, catching up to him. "This can't be right," he said with fear in his voice.

"Or maybe you just don't want it to be right," Skips replied, turning to Benson. "I see Margaret's car right there, this is the place, let's go! I thought you could handle anything."

"I CAN handle anything!" Benson shouted. "Just… this is different okay? Especially with Veronica here, and WOAH Skips!"

The yeti interrupted him by grabbing him around the side and walking towards the door. The bass got louder. "You need to lighten up, I thought you were good at dancing."

"This isn't dancing, Skips! It's something entirely different!" Benson shouted as the yeti dragged him toward the door. "Skips please," Benson whined.

"It'll be fine," Skips assured. He pushed the front door open like he owned the place and bobbed his head along with the music that permeated the atmosphere.

Immediately they were thrust into a completely different world. A world of hot strobe lights, bright colors and decorated people. They were spinning, twirling, bobbing and gliding across the shiny floor.

"Hiiiii guys!" Margaret shouted, spinning in circles with an entranced Mordecai.

Rigby flew by screaming. He must've been going thirty miles an hour. He slammed into a wall and his afro wig landed with a silent thud next to him. He fell to the ground and Eileen glided next to him, giggling.

"Get away from me!" he shouted as she helped him to his feet.

Benson dipped his head in misery.

"What's your size," Skips asked, bumping the gumball machine with his elbow.

"I don't remember," he sighed as loudly as he could. The music was so loud he could barely think.

"I'm guessing you're an eight, then," Skips said, skipping toward the front desk, which was decorated with colorful glow-in-the-dark trinkets and sunglasses.

Margaret pranced over, leaving Mordecai standing in the middle of the rink like a zombie. She slid and dipped through the crowd, managing to make her short commute look like an intricate dance.

"You're gonna need this," she shouted. She grabbed a fluffy black wig out of her bag and forcefully pulled it over his head. "Michelle was nice enough to shell out some cash for these."

Margaret turned her attention to the bar, where her manager was busy flirting with an uncomfortable, young employee.

Benson faked a smile as Skips returned with a pair of crusty old roller-skates, a fake afro and a confident grin.

Benson forfeited his hesitance and slipped the two roller-skates onto his feet, tying them tightly.

Just then, Veronica appeared, gliding skillfully in front of the three and skidding to a stop. She was dressed in bell-bottoms and a leather jacket, and her lips were smeared with thick, glittered-purple lipstick.

"Been a long time, huh chicklet?" she asked, blowing a kiss and turning away to reenter the skating rink. As she disappeared into the crowd, he spotted the familiar sequined unicorn on the back of her jacket. Below it, the words "Veronica, Queen of the Rink" were inscribed in fake diamonds.

"Yeah," Benson said to himself. "It's been a long time."

APRIL 14th, 2012

Skips tried reacquainting himself with the intricacies of roller-skating, as did Benson. They both practiced on the sidelines, clumsily trying to get back into the swing of things. Neither of them had been skating since the late seventies.

Benson still had a look of disdain on his face. The disco brought nothing but sour memories back to him, and it didn't help that Veronica had always been better than him in the rink.

Benson stood up, semi-confidently, but fell forward. Skips caught him and chuckled, pushing him back onto his feet.

"Thanks, try not to fall on me," Benson laughed as Skips stumbled a bit, helping him up.

After a couple of minutes, they both managed find their balance and brought up the courage to enter the ring.

"God I feel stupid," Benson said as they glided past the DJ. He shuddered at the site of the creature's enormous white grin.

"Don't feel stupid," Skips replied. "Just have some fun, so what if she's here?"

"It's not just that," Benson said as Veronica flew past them, skating backwards and sticking out her tongue playfully.

"Well then what is it?" Skips asked.

"It's just that," Benson wretched. "Never mind."

"Alright, if you don't wanna tell me, don't tell me," Skips smirked.

Rigby shot by on their right, sprinting away from Eileen once again and falling on his face.

Skips caught up to him and lifted him off the ground, placing him gently on his two feet.

"Man, this isn't working for me," Rigby complained. "I can't stay up, this sucks! I wanna go home."

"Why don't you try putting on a couple more skates?" Skips asked with a laugh.

"Hmm…" Rigby said, with a scheming face. The sight of Eileen interrupted his planning and he ran ahead of them clumsily.

Veronica flew by again, this time with a muscle-bound disco hunk holding her up in the air. Benson could hear her laughing over the loud music.

"What is she a goddamn Ferrari? She's passed us twice and we haven't even made it around once!" Benson moaned.

"I have an idea," Skips said, putting his hand on Benson's shoulder and picking up speed.

"Skips what are you doing?" Benson shouted. "We're gonna fall!"

"No we won't," Skips laughed. "If we match her speed, we'll never have to see her again."

"I can't argue with that," Benson replied nervously. Skips let go of him and he started to pick up speed on his own. "Skips, no!"

"You'll be fine," Skips yelled as the music picked up. "Trust me!"

The strobe turned on and the rink became a beautiful blur. Benson's gears sprang to life and started whirring loud enough for Skips to hear. The light stabs in the music churned the air around him and echoed in his glass head. At first, the gumball machine was frightened, but as the music infected his legs and arms, his eyes narrowed to a confident scowl and he smirked.

"Alright Skips," Benson said confidently. "You wanna go fast?"

"Yup," Skips yelled.

"Then let's go fast!"

Benson blasted out ahead of Skips, who smirked competitively as the music dropped for a split second, coming back in with an infectious disco rhythm. Within seconds, they passed by Veronica. She fixed her lips and hit the man who was holding her.

"Put me down, you oaf!" she whined.

"What'd I do?" he asked, as she sped up off in the distance.

Benson twirled his arms and snapped his fingers as he raced ahead of Skips, who was admittedly having a hard time keeping up. Benson wasn't dancing like a typical disco skater. He was like a racecar with a loud sound system: proud, flashy and fast.

Veronica's feet sliced at the ground quickly and she caught up with her ex quickly.

"So you think you're hot shit?" Veronica yelled at Benson, whose shoulders were bouncing left and right to the rhythm.

"Maybe I do," Benson smirked, rolling his arms over each other quickly, then shooting his one arm out to the side and twirling it around.

"I was always the better skater," she said, skating backwards and matching his dance moves.

"Sure you aren't getting rusty?" he asked, spinning around backwards and kicking one leg out.

Mordecai caught a glance of Benson skating from the sidelines. His jaw dropped, as did his nachos. He bumped Margaret's shoulder and pointed to the two gumball machines dancing at the speed of light.

"Oh my gosh," Margaret said in awe, "He's incredible!"

Skips skidded to a halt in front of Mordecai and Margaret, out of breath.

"Did you guys…" he started.

"We saw him," the two birds replied in unison.

"Holy crap," Skips chuckled, watching Benson make a fool out of Veronica. He was easily the fastest skater in the rink. The visibly angry Veronica trailed behind, just barely keeping up with him.

The other skaters caught wind of their display, and one by one stopped skating just to watch. The rink became less and less crowded as each new onlooker stepped off to the sidelines. They chattered to each other excitedly.

Rigby breezed by Benson on all fours, this time with a skate on each foot. "Sweet moves, Benson!" he yelled, picking up even more speed.

Suddenly, the DJ started to vibrate rapidly with joy. He threw up his arms and clapped wordlessly to the music. His omnipotent white eyes shined whiter than before as the music got louder. He reached up at a comically large red lever and pulled it, causing the entire rink to tremble and shake. Huge pillars of light shot out of the ground and blocked anyone else from entering the ring.

Benson didn't notice Veronica, or the attention, or even the small earthquake that knocked the few remaining skaters out of the ring. All he knew were the unspoken words of the music and the conversations they had with his body. He started moving his hips too and fro, and throwing his arm up and down with each pelvic thrust. When he found a break to open his eyes, he was startled by the emptiness of the skating rink. The music faded away and was replaced by loud applause.

The DJ grabbed a microphone that dropped from the ceiling on it's own and spoke into it. His voice was broken, robotic, and menacingly friendly. It boomed through the speakers, cutting out everyone's loud cheering.

"D-dd-dd-d-aa-nnccee-e- c-c—c—c—c—C-c-CONTEST!" the voice screamed, distorted and happy as it's owner twitched uncontrollably. The crowd erupted with excitement.

Benson's eyes shined with glee as Veronica skidded to a halt next to him.

"Dance contest, huh?" she sneered. "I don't care how fast you are, I can still beat you at this."

"Oh yeah?" Benson laughed.

"P-pp-p-pp-p-p-p-aap—a-a—PARTNER UP!" the huge headed automaton screamed in autotune as the gates opened up once again.

"Adolfo!" Veronica shouted, snapping her fingers. In seconds, her hunky skating partner returned to her side like a loyal dog.

"G-g-g—g-g-g-GUMBALL MAN!" the voice boomed again. "P-p-pp-p-p-PARTNER?"

"Give me your wig," Skips said to Rigby, who handed it over excitedly.

Skips donned the wig and glided into the ring, to Benson's surprise.

"Skips?" Benson asked with confusion.

"You're not the only one who went through a disco phase," the yeti replied, busting a stylish move. "Now come on, let's teach this chick a lesson."

Benson nodded his head and returned his gaze to veronica, whose enormous dance partner loomed behind her.

"H-h—h-h-h-h-h-HOWDY PARTNER!" the DJ screamed to everyone's confusion. He pulled another huge lever, and suddenly the two teams started glowing. Benson and Skips were red, and Veronica and Adolfo were green.

"F-f-f-f-f—ff-f-f-FIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!" the robot screamed again. His vowel trailed off higher and higher until he pushed a huge red button and surrounded the building in warm, heavy bass.

Veronica started off with a moonwalk and a shoulder shimmy, spinning around and shaking her chest in Benson's face and generating a loud "Oooooh" from the audience.

Adolfo answered her moves with a triple axel and a handstand, spinning his legs around until he landed in a seductive pose on his side.

Benson tapped his foot and looked unimpressed. "Skips, follow my lead," he said aggressively.

The gumball machine hopped around on each foot, bobbing his head back and forth while twirling his arms around each other. Skips jumped in and matched him with a classic disco point-and-hump. It was a simple move, but the yeti had perfected it with the swagger of a master.

Veronica gave a "pshh" and got on her back, spinning until her velocity brought her up on her one hand. Adolfo slid his hand under hers and lifted her up until she was spinning high above her.

The DJ yelled a chord in synch with the song, shaking his fists happily.

Benson answered with a standing front flip to a split, at which the audience roared. He slowly got up from the split using just his legs, arms crossed. His aura glowed brighter in response to the audience.

Behind him, Skips bobbed his head coolly with his hands in his back pockets. When Benson made it back to a standing position, he reached behind him and Skips slapped his hand. They switched positions and Skips summoned a few fireballs out of the air. He squeezed one of them and it burst, covering him in a hot white glow.

He pumped his fists in and out together and shifted his ankles with every downbeat. Then, he shook his chest in Veronica's face, the way she had done to Benson.

Benson laughed hysterically and Skips looked back at him with a confident grin. Veronica looked at them angrily.

"What?" Skips mocked. "They're nicer than yours," he added, crossing his arms.

The crowd erupted with laugher as she screamed with rage. "Alright, that's it, Adolfo! Let's show these motherfuckers the meaning of dance."

Adolfo snapped his fingers and picked up the female gumball machine by her waist. He tossed her up in the air and she did a back flip, landing in a split. He grabbed her hand and spun her out of the split. She spun so fast that she looked like a bedazzled top. After a few moments of spinning, Adolfo stopped her. Her arms were crossed and confident, and the gumballs in her head continued rolling around in circles. Even Benson had to admit that it looked very cool.

The DJ turned his head toward Benson and his friend, and nodded, as if to say, "Go on, show 'em!"

Benson clenched his fists and elbowed Skips in the side.

"Ow," Skips said with a smile.

"Skips, I need you to throw me as high as you can," Benson commanded.

"Wait, what?" Skips said.

"Skips, I need you to throw me. As high as you can. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, I just… Are you sure?" Skips asked.

"Do you want to win this or not?"

Skips looked at him blankly.

"Trust me," Benson added, with a sincere confidence in his face.

"What's the hold up, boys?" Veronica laughed. "Given up already?"

Skips furrowed his brow, looked to Benson and nodded. Then, he grabbed the gumball machine by his legs and whipped him around twice, finally tossing him into the sky.

Benson glided through the air upside down, arms across his chest like a mummy. The entire room watched and held their breath as his seemingly endless climb turned into a seemingly endless fall. He tumbled through the air like an Olympic diver as the crowd gasped in horror. Skips stood under him, waiting to catch him if he messed up his landing.

Mordecai, Rigby, Margaret and Eileen watched, entranced by the spectacle. Eileen clutched Rigby tight around the waist. The raccoon was too busy gawking to notice her.

Benson landed on both feet in a vampire pose, and the impact caused a shockwave that knocked Veronica and her partner back several feet. The music went silent as he stood there, eyes closed and unmoving.

"This is literally the coolest thing I've ever seen," Mordecai said in monotone.

Skips stood next to Benson and threw his fake afro on the ground. A green light filled the room and the beat came back in full force. Benson shot his arms out to the sides and started doing what the music told him. His moved in rigid angles like a malfunctioning mechanoid while Skips busted out some more classic disco moves. They clapped their hands in unison and swapped places and styles, eventually facing one another. They stared into each other's eyes and exchanged moves, kicking and swinging while Veronica fell to her knees, knowing there was nothing she could do to beat that kind of chemistry.

They became a blur of masterful motions as the DJ pumped his fist with approval. They spun around as if fixed on a turntable, complimenting each other's moves while standing out on their own, and when the music finally stopped, they froze completely in their final poses.

"Www—w-w-w-w-w-WINNER!" the robot clicked. He turned his head to the side and slammed one more button with his fist, which made the speakers explode with confetti and bubbles of every color.

The crowd burst into applause as Benson and Skips' auras faded and the roller rink started looking normal again. Mordecai, Rigby, Margaret and the rest of the crew rushed to congratulate the two on their victory.

"Holy cow, Benson!" Margaret shrieked with excitement. "I had no idea you could dance like that!"

"Yeah, and Skips, damn, man!" Mordecai added, shaking the yeti's hand and patting him on the back.

Rigby tugged at Skips' jeans and begged: "Teach me your ways!" before collapsing on the floor, overwhelmed with awesome.

They heard a loud sound like steam being released from an enormous can. The DJ's booth split in half and released its inhabitant face first into the ground. He twitched for a few seconds while everyone watched. Then, he got to his feet as if being lifted by a rope from behind. He adjusted his tie and did a businessman's strut towards Benson and Skips. He reached his hand out straight and his smile glowed bright, blinding all six of them.

"Hh—h—h-h-h-HELLO! Dancer. Nice. To…. MEET YOU!" the robot twitched at Benson.

Benson looked at the thing, very confused. The robot offered its hand again and tilted his head to the side.

"He wants you to shake his hand," Skips said.

"I know, I know," Benson said, reluctantly grabbing his hand. He was afraid of electrocution, but to his surprise, the bot's hand was soft, like flesh.

"N…N-n-N-INGGG-NAME PLEASE!" the robot creaked.

"Benson," the gumball machine said with a smirk.

"Fffffffffff… FELLOW AUTOMOTON! GOOD sss… STUFF!" the DJ buzzed.

"Thanks," Benson said, warming up to the strange robot.

"Ssss-s-ss-SOUL! S-s.. EXPRESSION! T-tht-ht-d-d-DRINK PLEASE," it said, getting frustrated with its own speech impediment

"Uh… here," Mordecai said, handing the robot his plastic cup of water.

The robot splashed him self in the face with the cup and his sizzled. Sparks flew off his face, and the lights in his eyes went dim for a moment. A low whir beneath his face signaled that he was rebooting, and he sprang back to life with a long electronic sigh.

"Ahh," he said, in a much more audible twang of a voice. "Much better. As I was saying…"

"Wait, you're a robot, you just splashed yourself with water," Benson said, imagining the pain. "Isn't that extremely dangerous?"

"Dangerous? Sure, but I was overheating," the DJ said joyfully.

"Don't you have a cooling system?" Benson asked, befuddled.

"I took it out!"

"What? WHY?" Benson shouted.

"The breaky voice sounds super cool when I'm making the music!" he replied, smiling brighter and closing his eyes.

"Right," Benson said, still confused.

"Anyways, as I was saying, good stuff friend!" the robot crooned.

"Thanks," Benson said. "Hey, it's good to meet a fellow musician, was that your stuff by the way? I really like it."

"Yes," the robot replied. "My music! Like disco, but non-organic. All synthetic. Still fun though, still full of soul!"

Benson nodded in agreement.

"Like you," the robot continued, pushing his finger against Benson's chassis. "Non-organic. Full of soul! Proves. Them. Wrong!" He tapped his finger with every word.

"Thanks…" Benson said, noticing the confetti leaking out of the robot's sleeve. "I still don't think you should be dumping water on your face, though, that could kill you."

"Kill? What?" the robot said. "No kill, break! Shut down! No death. Not for me. Not human, can't die."

"Well, whatever you wanna call it, it's not good for you," Benson said.

"Good? Benson, it's just a quirk, it's what makes me, not calculator. Makes me different, musician, unique! Like you, unique!" the robot replied.

"I… guess so," Benson replied.

"And you know, automaton Benson, I bet you have a few quirks of your own," the robot added, looking at him sideways.

"I…"

"Wouldn't it be a shame if you never had them? No quirks, just calculator."

"Uh…"

"I bet you'd prefer Benson over calculator," the robot said slowly. "Think about it." He brought his finger up and touched it to his own temple.

"I will," Benson said with a smirk as the robot turned to walk away.

"Wait," Benson added. "I didn't get your name!"

"I h-h-ha-a-ave man-nn—n-y na-a-ames," the robot squealed.

"Whoa," Rigby said under his breath.

"Just kidding," he chuckled. "The name's Dea-ea-a-EEEEEEEEERRRrrrrrr… boop."

The robot went unconscious and one of his huge elliptical ears almost knocked Skips upside the head.

Benson sprang forward and tried to hold the robot up, but when he lifted up his head, he saw a low battery symbol flashing in each of his eyes.

"Huh, guess he's 'dead'," skips said with a chuckle.

"For now," Benson added, still holding up the limp body of the bigheaded DJ.

* * *

><p>"Now wasn't that fun?" Skips said, closing the trunk gently on the huge disco ball shaped trophy. It was dark now, and the neon sign of the roller disco was fading away. "Don't you feel silly for being nervous?"<p>

"Yes it was, and yes I do," Benson chuckled, leaning against the side of the golf cart and looking up at the sky. "I tell you, Skips, that was really amazing. I had no idea you could dance."

"I've never had a chance to show you," Skips said, leaning next to him on the cart. Their combined weight shifted the funny little vehicle to the side.

"Well you were great," Benson sighed. "Thanks for helping me out back there."

"Nah, it was nothing," Skips assured him. The yeti looked at Benson's smooth head. From the right angle, he could see the back of his eyes. He found it fascinating. He listened to the quiet ticking of the gumball machine's heart. He leaned a bit closed to get a better listen.

Benson took a break from watching the sky to say something to his yeti dance partner, but stopped when he saw his expression. They shared a silent moment under the glow of the moon.

"You wanna ask me something?" Benson said with a coy emphasis.

Skips laughed to himself, a little embarrassed. "No, I mean… it's nuthin."

"Are you sure?" Benson asked, putting his arms behind his head.

Skips listened closely to Benson's inner workings once again. It was a calming sound to him, like the chattering of many small, quiet birds.

"How do you work?" Skips asked.

"What do you mean?" Benson asked with his head cocked defensively.

"Your gears and stuff," Skips said, casually pointing to the gumball machine's body. "I wanna see 'em."

Benson blushed. "Skips, goodness, I… maybe if you take me to dinner first or something," the gumball machine laughed.

"Oh god, are they, like, your privates or something? I… I didn't mean…" Skips said in a panic.

"Don't worry about it, Skips, you didn't know," Benson chuckled.

"I'm really sorry, Benson," Skips apologized again. "I really had no idea, I don't know many people like you."

"Skips, really, it's fine, I'm actually a little flattered," Benson added.

They both breathed out in unison, relieved of all awkward feelings. Skips smiled and looked over at Benson's chassis once again and listened for the sounds of his life.

Benson looked over at him and noticed the staring once again. He laughed a hearty laugh and Skips looked away, a bit embarrassed.

"You're really that curious about it," Benson teased as Skips tapped his foot nervously. Benson stared while the awkward feeling fell back into Skips' chest.

"Hey," Benson said, bumping Skips with his elbow. The impact made the yeti jump.

"Sorry," Skips said again. He felt Benson wrap his arm around his shoulder and mouthed a low grumble.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Benson said, shaking the yeti a little. "Now c'mon, let's get this thing home. I think we've each earned a drink, yeah?"

**Strobe** – _Deadmau5_

* * *

><p><em>So Until Next Chapter...<em>

_Adieu..._


	16. Dark Eyes

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Dark Eyes**

The park reopened soon afterwards, and as usual with the park and its staff, life returned to the standard monotony to which they all had grown so accustomed to. The only minor difference was the fact that the group were all still on edge, looking out for any signs of Bad News and its namesake out on the horizon. Because of that, a sense of anticipation lingered in the air. Not just for the staff, but for many of the park patrons and regulars as well. The fallout from the fundraiser and Connor Wong's interview was still fresh on their minds, so the park hadn't completely returned 100%.

Overall however, things seemed to be slowly returning to status quo. Benson once again had to deal with the antics of Mordecai and Rigby, as well as Muscle Man and High Five Ghost occasionally. Pops returned to being enthralled by the park and all of its many wonders and guests, and Skips was just happy that he didn't have to perform that damned ritual anymore. It was a gauche peace, but enough to keep their minds from wondering too far into thoughts of the monster.

Days flew by, with the sun and moon rising and falling so fast, the colors seemed to almost meld into a beautiful hue of violet. Before anybody had noticed, three weeks had passed, and their thoughts began to push the evil of Bad News away in favor for a returning sense of ease and comfort. The world had finally returned to the way things were supposed to be.

Benson sat under the shade, his body cool and relaxed from under the tree. Lunchtime had come so quickly that day – and what a day it was. The warm gust flowed through the air, carrying with it the signs of an oncoming summer and heavy heat. These days were the moments that lay stuck between the seasons, unsure whether to bring torrential storms of spring or the overbearing heat of summer. Benson didn't like either. They didn't bode well for his body, and it was on those days that he preferred to stay inside. Unfortunately, as park manager he was always caught doing chores on those days and had to suffer worse than everyone else.

Today was not one of those days though. Today was a day meant to be celebrated! The weather was perfect, the chores were getting done on time, there were little to no problems with the park all day; life was good for a change. He even decided to take an extra ten minutes on his lunch break simply to sit back and enjoy the tranquility of it all. He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes to relax for just a bit longer.

Little passing thoughts of better yesterdays and hopeful tomorrows filled his head and brought a sort of calm into his gears. He playfully clutched some grass in his hands, smiling a bit as the cool feelings and tickling flicks crossed his palms. He felt so childish, but didn't care. He wanted to feel that way. The world suddenly felt new and exciting for just those few fleeting moments. Perhaps this was what Pops felt like all the time.

Benson opened his eyes and found the man he was thinking about playfully walking toward him. The naïve man from lolliland held a fantastic smile on his face as he waved to the resting gumball machine. Benson returned the joy and waved back, waiting with anticipation for the man to get there.

"What's up, Pops?" Benson asked.

The big headed man approached him, and sat down next to him under the shade of the tree. "Oh you know, Benson," he answered with the same smile on his face. "It's just another wonderful day at the park."

"You can say that again!" Benson beamed. The man let out a content sigh right afterwards and adjusted to the new company. "What brings you here today, Pops?"

"Phone calls, my good man!" the excitable gentlemen said as he pulls out a notepad scribbled with chicken scratch and longhand writing.

Benson rolled his eyes. "Lay them on me."

Pops nodded and flipped a page over. "Papa called first to check up on things, as usual – says he'll be in tomorrow for his weekly check-up." Pops took a look at Benson just to gauge his reaction. Sure enough, the sheer mention of Maellard was enough to cause the automaton to tense up. Pops quickly flipped through the pages for something else, anything else, that could help ease his employees rising tension. He grinned at one of the calls. "Miss Eileen from the Coffee Shop called. Their suppliers overstocked them, and she wanted to know if we wanted to buy a box or two of extra coffee off them."

Benson shrugged. "You should probably ask Mordecai and Rigby that. You know I'm not the biggest coffee drinker." His expression turned to a small frown when he remembered who worked at that shop now.

Pops panicked for a moment, flipping through another page for something more light hearted. His smile perked up again as he found something that had to be perfect. "A mother called and wanted to know if she could have her daughter's birthday party here. I went ahead and said yes." Pops eagerly watched his employee's expression change to neutral.

"What kind of party did she want, and how much did she say she wanted to pay?" he asked. These things were typical for his job.

"Well, she said she didn't have much money. I believe she said she wanted something small. Only about seven or eight children would be coming, she said."

"Hmmm… small group," Benson muttered. "Tell her we'll find a nice place for them somewhere in the park, and try to think of some entertainment that's easy on the wallet."

"I will certainly do that," Pops grinned. He hoped the news of a celebration would be enough to bring Benson's spirits back up, but instead, it just kept him neutral. "I'm sorry for ruining your mood, just now," he said with some guilt in his voice.

"Don't worry about it," Benson sighed, "I think I've gotten to a point in my life where everything will piss me off in some way or another."

"Well it shouldn't though!" Pops argued. "There's too many good things out in the world for you to focus only on the bad things. I live my life by making sure that the only things I see are good."

Benson chuckled. "Pops, you cry whenever you accidentally step on an insect you're chasing."

"Well that's a sad thing," Pops replied. "It's nothing to be ashamed of when something you care for goes away, even if it's something so little."

At first Benson thought he could understand that, but his mind had trouble recognizing it as a valid argument. "Hey Pops. You know that a lot of people in the park see you as… simple. Right?"

"I'm completely aware of it, Benson," Pops answered with no change in his expression, "and it is sad that they would think so ill of me. But I don't mind it though. There's too many sad and unhappy things in the world. Everyone I meet, including Papa, are always so pessimistic and mean. I just wanted to be happy and care for everyone in the world. That includes little insects that get stepped on everyday, or even someone like you who a lot of people don't understand. And if I'm seen as a no good simpleton for it, then I am a proud no good simpleton who does good for the world."

Benson nodded to him. He completely understood where Pops was coming from. The old man was simply an optimist, and someone like that was a rarity in the world – especially when the man was nothing but optimism almost 99% of the time. It was rare to see Pops sad or depressed about anything. At times, he could see the old man worried, but never anything that brought him down. Benson envied that part of him.

"I wish I had that kind of luxury," Benson said. His eyes darted to the ground, and he felt his body tense up a little. "I wish I could smile all the time like you and find the joy in all the simple things. At least then I might have a reason to get up in the morning."

Pops looked at his coworker and made an attempt to figure him out. Out of all of his staff, Benson was probably the hardest working out of the bunch, with Skips a close second. But he was also the most pessimistic and mean spirited of the group, lashing out at anyone if things went wrong. Pops knew that he was worried for the safety of his job, but he would never fire Benson. The man did his job so well, and he enjoyed his company. He also knew that Benson had a playful side that few have actually seen. Maellard on the other hand…

"Well how about I give you something to smile about tomorrow, hm?" Pops offered.

Benson cocked his head in confusion and pondered what the old man was up to.

"We can do this," Pops continued. "You and I can be in charge of this little girl's party. We'll help set everything up, and get the games, and entertainment and everything. I'll even pay for the whole thing myself!"

The gumball machine rolled his eyes upon hearing that. "Pops, you shouldn't be paying for some stranger's kid's party. They want it at the park, they'll have to pay for it."

"Poppycock and boulder dash, Benson," Pops snipped. "I'll have you know that there is nothing more rewarding than helping someone out of the kindness of one's heart."

Benson definitely didn't agree with that. He had helped so many people in his life simply out of good will, and never got a real thank you or kudos for anything. The only thing it brought him was another heaping dosage of pessimism.

"I don't know, Pops," he groaned.

"I will not take no for an answer, Benson," Pops said, suddenly stern and proper. He had the look of his father, and the attitude to back it up. "This is an order from your boss! You will help me, and I will guarantee you that you will feel good about it!" It nearly scared Benson to see Pops act so much like Maellard.

Regardless, Benson was now officially stuck on party duty. "Alright then," he groaned unhappily. "What do you want me to do then?"

Pops stood up and collected himself, still looking dignified and sure of himself. "The party does not begin for another two weeks, so I thought we could start on everything tomorrow. We still have much to do around the park today. So ship up and be ready, Bencoop!"

Benson shivered as he heard the mispronunciation of his name. The steady gust returned and brought with it a harsh chill. A terrible thought coursed through his head of Pops slowly becoming as cruel and malevolent as his father. He would rule over the park and the city with an iron fist just as his father did, and would do his best to make the park workers lives a living hell.

He looked up at Pops to study his face. He was surprised to find the man smiling down at him, doing his best to keep in the laughter.

"I was only joking, Benson," he giggled. "I would never act like my father around you. And you have my word that you will enjoy what we will be doing. Promise!"

Benson groaned and massaged his temple. That was a twisted joke, he thought to himself. If it were anybody else, they probably would have found it hilarious. Benson, on the other hand, had had too many issues with Maellard in the past to consider anything involving him funny.

"Loosen up, Benson!" Pops suggested as he began to walk away. "You'll never trust anyone if you loosen up every once in a while."

Those words stuck with Benson, biting down on the back of his neck with some imaginary pain. Did Pops seriously suggest that Benson didn't trust anybody? Of course Benson trusted people! He was just cautious with them was all. He sure as hell didn't trust Veronica, or the idiot twins back at the house, but he certainly trusted everyone else to an extent. Why would he not? Pops and Skips were very nice to Benson, and Muscle Man and High Five Ghost seemed to get along with him well enough. No no… Pops had to be wrong there. Benson trusted people, he knew he did.

And yet, it still felt like something was biting at the back of his neck. He at it, just make sure: no spider bites, no mosquitoes, no black holes. It was in his head. He had to ignore it for now though; work was calling him back. The rest of the day exhausted him, destroying his good mood from earlier.

* * *

><p>And so the day came and went, as did the night. Benson came home to his usual one man meal, watched the news and whatever seemed good enough on local television and went to bed. None of his end of the day rituals had changed for most of the time he had worked at the park. When all was said and done, he just floated through the actions and ended the day under the covers, drifting off into another dreamless sleep.<p>

The world held no sound, no image, no pain, no joy, no nothing. As usual, he relished these moments where no good or bad could come, and where only he alone floated there in a darkened limbo. And yet, something was trying to make its way through the darkness and into his world. It started off as a muffle, the sound distinctly high pitched and curious. It began to grow loud, attacking his sense of hearing, and forcing Benson to shake awake.

The usual bit of adrenaline was bumped into his system as he tried to figure out what it was that woke him up. The phone was ringing. He weakly felt around in the darkness of his room for the corded phone on his nightstand, and picked up the receiver when he found it.

"He…hello?" he groggily answered.

The sound of glass shattering on the other end caught his ears first, pumping more adrenaline into his system. Benson was now fully awake, curious as to what was going on, on the other end.

"Hello?" he repeated.

"Oh, hi Benson!" greeted a surprisingly enthusiastic voice. There was a tinge of sarcasm to the male voice on the other end, as he was greeted. "How you doin'?"

"Dr. Ploddevize?" Benson asked.

"That's my name, and you know the rest of that childish little saying," he laughed. "Sooooo… how you doin'?"

"What's this about?" Benson questioned with slight anger.

Another loud breaking sound could be heard in the background. The phone went dead for a second before someone picked it back up, more than likely Ploddevize.

"Yeah, listen," he started. "I need your help with something actually. It's kind of a big deal, and I know you and the rest of the park staff have dealt with it already, and I thought you might be the best person to talk to."

"What are you talking about?" Benson inquired.

"Well, it might be a good idea if you came to the hospital right now and took a look for yourself. I'm afraid it's beyond what I can do, and I'm completely stumped as to whatever it is. So if you don't mind, could you just get your metal patootie out of bed and take a quick stroll down to the hospital. I'll be in the psychiatric wing." Something then crashed into the phone, and the line went dead.

Benson pulled the receiver away from his head and looked at it with the moonlight shining down onto it from the slight opening of the blinds. He cursed the world and everything about it, Martin Ploddevize especially, and jumped out of bed. In a few moments, he was already out the door heading to the hospital a few blocks away.

He made sure to keep his walking speed up, wanting to get there as soon as possible so he could get home just as fast. In a little over fifteen minutes, he was already walking into the main lobby and into an elevator directed specifically for the psychiatric wing. He grimaced at the thought of whatever could possibly be going on.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he looked out into the hall and found Ploddevize, as well as some nurses using bedpans and food trays as shields, while pieces of furniture and hospital room decoration were thrown from one of the patient rooms. Martin noticed the gumball machine stepping out and quickly jogged over to him.

"Oh good, you made it!" he said with his usually snark. "By the way, I saw you on Connor Wong a few weeks ago. You look better on camera than in real life… more of a jackass too."

"Shut up, Martin," Benson snapped. "Why did you wake me up at 2am just to bring me to the hospital?"

Martin pursed his lips into a smile and bopped his head back and forth. "Well I thought that you and I never get to know each other well enough, so I thought we could pop in the newest chick flick, get fat on chocolate ice cream, and does diiiiiiiiiish about all the cute guys running around the park and hospital." He flashed his eyelids a few times in a feminine manner, quickly discarding his smile in favor for his usual frown. "Why the hell did you think I called you here! Do you not see the projectiles being flung out of that room!"

"I'm not blind, Martin," Benson yelled. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Well go look for yourself!" the doctor yelled back.

Benson gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He was too tired and cranky to deal with any of this. So without a worry in the world he stomped over to the room and looked into the door.

"Oh no!" he gasped, turning right around and quickly began to put his feet in action.

It was no good though as a laugh and a sweet, "Benson! Sugar!" erupted from the room, and the feral Don snatched him up, and closed the door behind him.

Martin held no expression indicating surprise or worry for the gumball machine. In fact, it was almost amusement that came over his face. The nurses in front of him looked at one another and scrambled about to try and think of what to do. It was a hostage situation now. Did they need to call the police or the fire department?

The doctor chortled under his breath as he slowly took the steps toward the closed door. He stopped in front of it, his hands in his pockets as he watched the shadows jump around behind the tinted and foggy glass. The door burst open as Benson began to crawl out of the room, only to get dragged back in by his feet.

"We forgot to do the ritual on Don!" he screamed as he was pulled back. Don returned a moment later to hiss at the doctor and close the door.

Martin continued to watch the door.

Another moment later, the door burst open again and Benson once again appeared to be trying to escape via the floor. Don once again grabbed him, and pulled him back in. The gumball machine grabbed a hold of the door frame, and tried to keep himself from getting pulled back in with the beast.

"CALL SKIPS!" he screamed, as one of his arms lost grip. "CALL SKIPS! TELL HIM DON IS POSSESSED AGAIN!" Benson did his best to hang on tight to the frame, but the strength of Don's hold was too much for metal in the gumball machine's shoulder. Something snapped, and Benson's entire arm snapped off, flipping over the threshold and landing at Ploddevize's feet. Benson screamed out in pain as he was dragged back in and the door closed shut.

Martin stood there and let out a small laugh. He looked down at the arm, and picked it up. He observed the little intricacies of it and the amount of damage from the break point. Luckily, he had some knowledge in inanimate life forms so this was an easy fix. Benson had had limbs break off before, so it wasn't anything new anyways. So the doctor chuckled, reached behind his back with the arm, and scratched an itch just above his tail bone.

"That's the stuff," he sighed contently. Then he went and made a phone call.

Skips was there in about ten minutes. He shot through the elevator with the equipment he needed for the ritual. He put a drawing on the floor, surrounded it with tallow candles (though those were just for show), pulled out the required rain stick, and inflated a kiddy pool that would collect the garbage that was more than likely going to come out of the raccoon.

Martin waved to Skips with Benson's severed arm and watched the yeti set up. He really wasn't that interested, trusting Skips judgment, knowing full well that the creature had a pension for magic and the occult, as well as being incredibly intelligent. He took a few steps back and gave him the floor.

Meanwhile inside, Don was in the middle of a sugar hold with Benson. He sat cross legged on the bed while rubbing his cheek against the annoyed older man's glassy dome.

"I don't care if you said it was never gonna happen between us," Don bellowed joyfully. "I still get all the sugar in the world from you. And you can have as much sugar from me as you want. We can make sugar cookies with all the sugar we're giving each other."

Benson's expression was a combination of exhaustion and sheer anger. Truthfully, he wanted to reach behind him and punch the raccoon square in the jaw, but knew he couldn't do it. He still liked Don, no matter how insane he had become. The gumball machine mentally kicked himself though for forgetting to take care of Don's problem right after the fundraiser.

The door leading into the hall then opened up, and Skips appeared at the door. Don wasted no time in throwing Benson aside and hissing angrily at the yeti. "YOU AGAIN!" he screamed. "I told you that you can't have him! You're just trying to take everything away from me again!" He lunged forward and grappled with Skips, pinning him to the wall and slowly overpowering him. "This time, I'll make sure you can't take things away from anyone!" Don screamed in a sadistic tone. His eyes went jet black and he grinned evilly.

"Hey Don!" yelled someone beside them. The raccoon looked over at the voice with hate, only to grin enthusiastically. Martin still held onto Benson's arm, waving it to Don. "You want Benson's arm, boy? You want the arm, boy?" The doctor smiled and threw it into the kiddy pool. "Well go get it!"

Don released Skips of his grip and jumped into the empty pool, taking the arm. He held it close to him and cradled it gleefully. "Benson's arm is the best arm there ever was. Think of all the sugar it can give!" He giggled as though he were on some sort of drug, and continued to nestle the appendage.

This gave Skips the time to perform the ritual and quickly cleanse Don of Bad News. The raccoon dropped the arm as he realized once again what he had become. Something was wrong with his body though and he stood up from the pool. Benson was pushed out the door a moment later, and his arm was tossed out as well.

"Don?" Benson quipped.

"Can't talk, nature calls," Don said in a squeaky tone. The door slammed shut on all three of them.

They all adopted the same disgusted look and began to step away from the door. Martin instructed some nurses to stick by just in case and to help Don with anything after he was finished. Skips slipped a lighter under the door, knocking on it three times and instructing Don to burn the black stuff before he flushed. And Benson just took his arm and looked for the closest doctor who wasn't Martin Ploddevize to help reattach it. When he found that none of the available doctors had the same experience as Martin, he surrendered to the doctor's expertise.

"Come along gum-man and yeti-wonder," he sighed. "Let's go fix up an arm and get you two home."

Two cups of water and a few moments with a blowtorch and some screws later, Skips and Benson were on their way out the door, practically being kicked out of the hospital by Ploddevize who assured them both that he wasn't going to charge for the quick repairs to Benson's arm. The two wished they could have said goodbye to Don, but by the time all was said and done, the raccoon was tuckered out, snoozing quietly in his bed. Something told Skips and Benson that he probably wasn't going to be there too much longer. At least, that's what they hoped.

"C'mon," Skips said, climbing into the driver's side of the golf cart, "I'll give you a lift back."

Benson obviously accepted. He was just too tired to have to make the walk back to his apartment, especially since he was going to have to get up in a little under two hours anyways. He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to get back to sleep. The machine jumped into the passenger side next to Skips, and they rode off. Benson tilted his head back against the seat, and just drifted out without even knowing it. He fell back into his dreamless slumber of peace and nonexistence, and everything was as it was.

Occasionally, he would feel the bump of the road, and a slight flash of light from going under a lamppost. But his mind thought nothing of it, considering them only passing sights and sounds of an outside world he did not wish to return to just yet. Even with the bumpy ride, he was unmoved where he was and continued his solitude. It actually brought a sense of wide noise that relaxed him further. He wasn't even aware that he had fallen to the side, pressed against Skips' shoulder and arm.

It all came to a halt though, which ironically enough, was the thing that stirred him. That silent world all around him: it felt broken, and terrifying. His mind scrambled, and little by little, he began to become more coherent of the nightly sky again. He looked around himself; he wasn't home.

Benson leaned forward and tried to figure the sites out. He seemed to be on some sort of hill looking out over the city. It actually felt familiar, as though at some point he actually visited a place such as this. He turned and looked behind himself: trees all around. But off to the side in the distance was a house he definitely recognized. It looked like it was still a good walk to get there, but he knew exactly where he was.

"Isn't that Don's house over there?" he said to himself.

"Yeah, it is," the gruff voice from elsewhere answered. Benson looked over to his side and found Skips lining a dug up whole with some cling wrap. He nodded at Benson's recovery and continued to finish.

"What are we doing here?" Benson asked, rubbing some of nap of out his eyes.

"You were pretty close to Don when he was possessed again," the yeti sighed. "You know what I gotta do."

Benson let out an annoyed groan through his teeth. He had completely forgotten that he would need the ceremony as well. He didn't want to have to deal with the after effects again for a whole day. He dreaded what kind of emotion would be kicked into overdrive when it was done. "Alright," the gumball machine frowned, "let's get this over with."

He jumped out of the cart and approached the yeti. Looking into the small hole, he looked at Skips with confusion as he inquired about the plastic cling wrap.

"Those kiddy pools aren't cheap," he replied, following it up with a tiny grin. "This'll work too. I plan on burning the stuff the moment it comes out of you anyways."

Benson agreed and jumped into the whole. Skips wasted no time and quickly performed the ritual as he usually did. The yeti couldn't help but zone out of the whole thing, letting his memory take control of the situation. When he was finished, Benson jumped out of the hole and wretched into it. He thought that it would come out a different way. Unfortunately for him, it came out as such, followed up by a painful dry heave and some gear fluid that burned his throat. He prayed to whatever Deities existence that this would be the last time he would go through such a pain.

He felt his mind go weak, and the rest of his body fell to the ground. His breath was having trouble catching up to him, coupled along side the awful taste of gear lubricant and oil still lingering about. It surprised him how the remnants of Bad News had no taste to it – a fleeting joke that seemed appropriate at the time.

The hole was set ablaze, and the fire danced above it for only a few seconds before extinguishing itself. In that moment though, Benson felt like he could see everything from the past, the present, and the future in that bright blue flame. He didn't believe any of it though. It was simply a day dream that his head had concocted. He knew that there was nothing there, and his hallucination was an obvious sign of fatigue and exhaustion. But he knew he had work in a few hours and needed to go. His legs didn't feel like moving at, twitching at the very thought.

"I can't move," he complained in a raspy voice. "I can't move…"

The blackness of sleep came to him once again. He felt his body cradled against flesh and fur, but that was it.

* * *

><p>Most of the time, Skips enjoyed being on the sidelines. He enjoyed not being the center of attention and having to be the subject of a conversation. The past few centuries carried with him talks of his immortality, loss of love and friendship, enemies of old, his connections with the being known as Death and the other horsemen, and stories, after stories, after stories. He didn't mind telling them, but they exhausted him mentally. He didn't want to talk about himself anymore, even if they were happy things that lingered in the past.<p>

This wasn't to say that he was very to himself. He cherished the compliments he received from his friends more than anything. He lived to hear their congratulations, and relished for when they asked for help. He was there, not as some legend or a story to be told, but as a fountain of information. Everything about him was fascinating to the park staff. His past, while always curious to the staff, was always overshadowed by the things he knew and the advice he gave out. Everyone there knew he had a sordid relationship with Death, and did their best to never bother with anything before he started working at the park.

That never stopped the occasional question from being asked, especially by Benson. When they had first started at the park, Benson wanted to know more and more about the yeti. He figured if they worked together, they might as well get to know each other. Sadly, Skips never divulged much about him to Benson, which was aggravating to the automaton. This especially held more grief as Benson had no problem talking about his past, including the loss of his love and his best friend. Skips had no intention of following Benson's stories up with any of his. Benson was heart broken over those things. Imagine how he would react if he were to find out how many loves and friends Skips had watched grow old and die.

The yeti pulled the covers over Benson's sleeping form. He didn't mind taking the machine back to his home, and carrying him inside. Benson was his boss. Not only that, but Benson was always so kind and caring to him. Skips owed him to act the same way to the man.

He smiled over Benson, watching him breath deeply in peaceful slumber. He wondered what he dreamt about. Maybe it was something else entirely different from how he lived his life. Maybe the world inside his head was a much more peaceful place than the park or anywhere else the yeti could possibly even imagine. A part of him wished he could show him that.

It didn't take a scientist to tell him or anyone else that Benson was a troubled person. He was the kind of person that always looked on the bad side of things, seeing the glass half empty. Benson only saw the world as a stress inducing exercise meant to torture him relentlessly with work and people who he could barely get along with. Very rarely did Skips ever see the gumball machine happy or even ecstatic about something outside the park. There were times though, that the beast could see true glimpses of happiness in him that went unscathed by circumstances. The bowling league, or when he dated Audrey for a time, for example, were some of the very few times he actually had fun and admitted to it.

Skips took a look around his room, and tried to piece the puzzle of Benson together. He had been to this place so many times, but never really took the time to actually look at everything. The place seemed so barren, save for a few pieces of furniture and a couple of little decorations here and there. His eyes caught the dance trophy they both had won from a while back, and it brought a sense of calm to Skips' heart. This week it was Benson's turn with the trophy; next week's was his.

He glanced down at Benson again and watched him sleep. There was just something so peaceful about him here. It surprised Skips, and yet it didn't. Skips could see some inner peace and tranquility in Benson, even when he was awake. He knew Benson was a good person in reality, and not the harsh dictator boss that some of the other staff saw him as. Pops could see it too, and Skips knew that. Benson was not a bad person.

Benson was kind and compassionate to Skips, and he was understanding and always concerned for Pops. He wanted to keep the park in as perfect an order as he could. True, that was his job, but Skips felt that maybe it was because of something else entirely. He wasn't sure what though. He couldn't jump into Benson's head and figure things out like that. All he had were gut instincts.

Skips sat down on the edge of the bed, and continued to stare. Even he realized just how creepy it made him seem. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't tear himself away from the sleeping figure. He looked so sad and peaceful.

Skips reached out his hand. A strange memory from the past resurfaced, and he had this compelling urge to just touch the gumball machine, just on the shoulder. Something about it just made him want to relive that moment. All he remembered was that he was cold. Was he still cold maybe? Or did he finally warm up?

But as he got closer, the yeti watched his hand begin to shake uncontrollably. He was only an inch away from Benson when he pulled back. His eyes went bright as flashes of turmoil and the past flew by in an instant. These sad moments from his past pushed him away from Benson's bed and into a corner, the quake in his hands spreading to the rest of his body. A shame and fear came to his face as he held his legs close to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them, and buried his head in the darkness between his legs and chest.

These harsh dreams: memories of friends, and families, husbands, and wives, sons, and daughters… Death's little joke, and their little bet. His body hurt and ached for the warmth of another suddenly. Something inside him begged for something, anything, to find him and keep him close. But no. Not now, and not ever. The joke couldn't continue, and no one could win this bet. Better to keep things simple. Better to keep things from spiraling out of control. Better to keep things professional for everyone.

He should of left, but he didn't. His body was frozen in place. He tried to sleep through it, but he couldn't. Every time he felt sleep coming, the moment he closed his eyes he saw words and sentences, the things that people had already and would come to say, and they scared him. He should have been strong, but he wasn't.

He looked over at Benson and saw him shuffle quietly in his sleep. Why did Skips feel like he suddenly needed protecting? Why would he even entertain the thought of asking someone like Benson for that? It was a selfish request, and one he wasn't going to pose to Benson.

So he remained in his place for a period that he wasn't aware of. At some point, he eventually picked himself up and moved to the living room, where he crashed onto Benson's chair. He continued to try and sleep… but nothing came of it in the end.

**Dark Eyes – **_Bob Dylan_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

And it's me again! I hope you all enjoyed DatRegularBro's chapter back at chapter 15. And now we have this one, which marks the start of the second half of the story. The story is going to be coming at you fast and hard, let me tell you. Especially when you start getting into the chapter 20 mark is when things start to go crazy. I know you all will love it! So I hope you all stick around and keep reading!

_Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	17. False Alarm

**Chapter Seventeen**

**False Alarm**

Benson woke up to the usual shriek of his alarm clock, and slapped it off. His mind had no thoughts or drive to get him through the morning, so his body turned him on auto pilot as he began his usual morning routine. When he had finished with his shower, he popped on out of the bathroom and into his living/kitchen area. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Skips tossing and turning in his chair trying to get comfortable.

"Decided to stay over?" Benson said, right out of the blue.

Skips grunted and looked over at Benson. He recognized him only by voice. The body was blurred from a combination of restlessness and the dim lighting of the room. "Is it time to get ready for work already?" he asked with a dry gasp.

Benson didn't even need to tell him that it was. The yeti watched his boss trot over to the kitchen area and switch on a mini light above the stove, flicking on the flame, and setting a kettle with water on the burner. After that, the gumball machine completed the rest of his ritual by pulling out a carton of eggs and some bread for toasting.

"How do you like your eggs?" Benson asked with his backed turned to Skips.

The beast tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, but the burning sensation of exhaustion persisted even afterwards, beckoning him to relax. He had work to do though, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to get up and greet the day like he usually did.

"Scrambled is fine," he coughed.

Benson acknowledged him with a quick nod and began to crack some eggs into a plastic bowl. He dropped the contents inside them, added a little milk, and began to whisk the mixture together with a fork. He looked over at Skips while mixing his concoction, just in time to watch the yeti shake and wobble his way up from the chair. He fell back into it a few seconds later, gently rubbing his head and then his eyes. Benson sighed and put the bowl down.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" he asked.

Skips watched the expression on his boss' face grow curious and concerned. "Not really," he yawned. "I guess I was just worried that Bad News might come to get you or something." It was a bold faced lie, but he hoped Benson would believe it at least.

Sadly for Skips, Benson knew that there was something else about him that said differently. But whatever it was, Benson had a feeling that the immortal man wasn't going to talk about it to him what so ever. So he told him, "if you say so," and went back to whisking the eggs.

"Don't come in today," Benson added for good measure.

The words didn't process correctly in the yeti's mind at first. He was sure Benson just told him not to come in. "What?" was the only thing that could escape his lips.

"You heard me," Benson assured him. "I don't want you coming into work when you haven't had any sleep. I want you to stay here and get some sleep."

Skips continued having trouble recognizing the words that were coming out of the gumball machine's mouth. Some of it just didn't make any logical sense. "Look, Benson. I'm fine. I've been able to work on less sleep than this, and still be pretty productive. Don't worry about it."

"Skips," Benson sighed, "who's the boss in here?"

The yeti groaned unhappily. He couldn't argue with that. "Well why can't I just go back to my shack and rest if it means that much to you?" he complained.

Benson smirked at him and dropped the eggs into a skillet. "Because if I let you go back to the park, you're just gonna turn around and do some work behind my back. You're as bad a workaholic as I am."

The eggs sizzled and popped, causing Benson to have to raise his voice in some instances. But all the while, he gave Skips a decent smile, and sincerely hoped the yeti would take his request to heart. What choice did he have?

Skips shook his head and wished he could argue something to help his side, but in reality, he was very tired and whenever he tried to get up, his body grew heavy and dropped him back down. It was unusually, but performing rituals tended to drain Skips of any energy inside his soul, causing exhaustion to set in faster.

"Well?" Benson added, as he doused the eggs with salt and pepper.

"You're not going to give me a choice are you?" the yeti grimaced. Benson shook his head, which only caused the older man to frown further. "Fine," he relented.

"Good," Benson said with a triumphant expression. "You can sleep in my bed if you want. That chair isn't very comfortable for sleeping – take it from me. You feel up to eating?"

Skips hadn't thought about it much. He did tell Benson he liked his eggs scrambled but not that he was actually hungry. Really, he just wanted to sleep, which only proved that Benson was right. "I guess not," he said, picking himself up from the chair. He made sure to hold onto the sides this time as not to fall back down again.

"I'll just stick yours in the fridge then," Benson said as he watched the yeti make his way to the bedroom. "Feel free to use anything in the apartment!"

He heard Skips grumble something, possibly an agreement, and the sound the bedroom door slamming shut. Benson, of course, knew that Skips didn't want to miss a day of work, but it was necessary. Benson knew Maellard was heading to the park today, and the last thing he wanted was an exhausted and cranky coworker next to him when having to deal with the crotchety old coot. Perhaps he could just ask Pops for the support while he was there today. Surely Maellard wouldn't be so cruel while his son was around.

* * *

><p>Benson entered the rec house to a nice clean living room. He heaved a sigh in relief seeing that the place was actually clean for a change. No one had showed up yet, except one by the looks of it. Benson looked over to the couch to see a human there with his feet on the table, arms sprawled out, and resting on the head of the couch. He turned to Benson and quickly adjusted his glasses.<p>

"Morning to you, stranger," Tim said with an early morning grin. "I'll bet you know what I'm doing here."

Of course Benson knew why he was there. "Mr. Maellard's upstairs, isn't he?"

"Waiting for you," Timothy added to that.

"This early?"

"This early," the human repeated.

Benson felt a cold chill creep along his spine. He expected his boss to be there sometime in the midday or afternoon, but this early? Perhaps he should have just stayed in bed and called in sick. Instead, he was there, looking up the steps to the second floor, and eying the half open door into Maellard and Pops' private office in the park. As usual, his heart sank and his expectations for a pleasant day flew right out the window.

"I think he's just talking with Pops right now," Tim said to him. "I don't think he's ready for you yet. Otherwise, he would have already screamed out some bastardization of your name, don't you think?" Tim laughed, and stole a peek at Benson. The gumball machine wasn't listening to him. His eyes were still fixated on the upstairs office door. Tim rolled his eyes and returned to his financial reports on the television. "By the way, isn't Skips usually with you when Maellard's here?"

"Skips isn't coming today," Benson replied. "He's feeling under the weather so I told him to stay in and take it easy until he was feeling better."

"Well that was nice of you," Tim said with an inquiring eyebrow. "So what, is he at his shack or something?"

Benson shook his head, and finally decided to look Tim in the face. "Nah, he's at my place. I didn't trust him to sleep in his shack. He would have just found some way to work or get things done when he shouldn't."

"He is that kind of person, isn't he?" Tim mentioned.

Benson raised his own prying eyebrow at the human. "What kind of person is that?"

"Someone who just doesn't know when to give up," Tim sighed. "You kind of share those same sort of aspects. Though, I don't think you're as stubborn as him."

"You're probably right," Benson laughed.

"I know I'm right," Tim guaranteed, "trust me on this. Besides, anyone can pick up on it considering how much you two tend to hang around each other, and the way that yeti looks at you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Benson curiously asked.

Tim's studied Benson with strange bewilderment on his face. Benson's expression matched his perfectly, causing Timothy to clear his throat and look back at the television. "Oh I see... umm... nevermind that I said anything. It should make things more interesting, I guess."

"Whatever that means," Benson replied. He crossed his arms in a sort of humorous way and approached the couch. "So you think you're a good judge of character?"

"Well I'd have to be in the line of business I'm in," Timothy answered.

"Body guarding?"

Tim let out a bellowing laugh that echoed throughout the entire house. "Not entirely, my lifeless friend," he said with humility. His attention quickly shifted to something on the television screen, and his face shifted to a somewhat more bothered tone. "Damn… down 2% again? What are those idiots doing while I'm not there?"

Benson looked at the TV himself and found multi-national corporation ATRS stock had dropped a few points. He was confused by Tim's sudden outburst of annoyance. "Wait a second," he began, "why are you so interested in that company?"

"Because I own stock in it," Tim said, leaning forward and writing something on a sheet of paper in front of him. The paper contained numbers and names of random some bodies that Benson did not know.

"Now, I'm not financial expert or anything like that," Benson began, "but isn't that particular company's stock worth around a thousand dollars a share?"

"$1600, but it's been going done lately," Tim said as he crossed a name off his last. "It's just a drop in the bucket to me. I own 21% of the company. Out of the rest of the old men at the table, that makes me the second majority share holder."

Benson wasn't sure how to process this information. "Majority…?" Now as Benson said, he wasn't a financial expert by any means, but even he had heard of ATRS. They mostly specialized in medical and food, and it was difficult not to find their logo on the back of most major pharmaceuticals. Benson tried to piece it all together. "But if you own 21% of the company, and the shares are worth $1600 for one, wouldn't that make you a…"

"Billionaire?" Tim finished, speaking as a matter of fact. "Well yes, as a matter of fact, it would."

The gumball machine needed something to hold on to. This couldn't have been right. "Wait… wait… wait… wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wait… you're a billionaire?"

"Yes I am," Tim replied. "And if I can just get an extra 30% of the shares, I will own that damn company, and have enough to kick that damned cardinal and his slut out of their precious little seats. You wouldn't believe what I had to do to get the 21% I already have."

Benson wasn't sure what any of that meant. He was more interested in the blaring question that just had to be asked.

"Why are you a body guard?"

Tim looked away from the TV, and simply said, "Boredom."

"You were… bored?"

"Yeah," he assured the gumball machine. "I mean, I have my own reasons for being here, but mostly it's boredom. I could have run away with the love of my life and lived happily ever after as billionaires, but even then, I'm sure she and I would get bored at some point down the line. I don't know, I think this is working out so far."

"And Maellard?" Benson inquired.

"What about him?" Tim smirked. "Does he know, you mean – of course not. He'd probably fire me on the spot and demand I leave his sight. The rich are always fearful of those with more money and power than them. You probably don't know this, but if I wanted to, I could buy him and his little hole in the wall corporation about twice times over if I really wanted to, perhaps even more if I take my time."

Benson was speechless, and Tim could tell it was the troubling sort.

"Please don't tell Maellard," he asked the automaton kindly. "It would ruin the surprise."

Another bit of news flashed across the screen of the television about ATRS as some stock footage of some news reporters talking to a male cardinal anthropomorph appeared, which caused Timothy to explode in a loud, "come on," before continuing to writing numbers and crossing names out on his sheet of paper.

Benson stepped away from the human, enlightened though, immensely disturbed by their exchange. He didn't want to wait to be called down for his appointment with Maellard. No, he wanted to get this over with and to get as far away from Tim as he could. He trounced up the stairs and knocked on the half open door.

"Ah, Bentootoo," Maellard said, surprisingly happy, "come on in."

Benson opened the door, and stepped inside. He was greeted with a wave by Pops, and a simple nod from his father. Benson took a deep breath and sat down. "Good morning Mr. Maellard," he greeted as he sat.

"And good morning to you!" the old said enthusiastically. "I'd say today is a marvelous day today, don't you agree?"

The sudden sense of empathy and hope from Maellard caught Benson off guard. It actually gave the man a small grin, believing that maybe today wasn't going to be as bad as the others.

"It's a very nice day out actually," Benson replied. "I hear it's supposed to be in mid to high seventies today. It's good weather for working outside."

"Splendid!" the old man yelled. "That's especially handy considering we will be erecting a new theater on the outskirts of the park."

Benson wasn't surprised about the additions, but was more curious as to what brought it on. "That's… great, sir. Is this like a theater for like drive in movies or something, or the play kind?"

The man stood from his comfortable seat and stared out the window. "Live theater, my worker; nothing but plays and live performances!" Maellard continued enthusiastically. "I got the idea after Pops here told me that you and him were going to be helping a young lady with her child's birthday party."

Pops nodded to Benson and stifled a laugh.

"And I was thinking," Maellard continued, "we don't actually have an official stage of any sort to try and bring in the performance crowd. It would be easy money, and it would be another landmark for the park!"

Benson agreed. Anytime there was a performance in the park, they always had to create some sort of make shift stage. And Maellard was right: it would bring business in. A lot of people did like watching plays outdoors in the park. It was a peaceful experience.

"Because of this," Maellard went on, "I have decided that we should build an amphitheater somewhere in one of the vacant zones of the park."

"Sir, that could take months," Benson quickly said. "And those things are expensive to build."

Maellard gave him a fascinated smile and a smug laugh. "I'd expect you would know better than that by now Bensim. Besides, I'm not expecting it to be built by next week, nor do I expect any of you have any involvement in it."

Benson heaved a sigh of relief. Who knows how long that would take if they were given that assignment. "Well then, what exactly is it that you want us to do, Mr. Maellard?"

The elderly man turned around and alternated his glance between Pops and Benson. "I'd like for you all to create a sort of stage in the park for smaller productions, like for the local play groups, or even that play you and Pops will be putting on."

"That was my idea," Pops interrupted. "Wouldn't it be grand to see someone performing such lovely shows right in our backyard?" He bit his lip in giddiness and laughed happily. "And I also thought that if we can get it done quickly, maybe we could put on a show for that woman's birthday party! Wouldn't that be smashing?"

In truth, Benson actually did like the idea. It was original, and it would help bring more clientele into the park. The scary movie night idea from a few months back seemed to work well enough, so maybe small time plays and performances could do the same. The only thing he wasn't looking forward to was the amount of work that needed to be put into building the small stage.

"So we need to have it done before this party then?" Benson sighed. "Is that going to be enough time, sir?"

The man collected his cane and continued to smirk at the gumball machine. "You know, I went by the Coffee Shop the other day. I met up with that lovely girl you were out with the other night, Margaret I believe. I hear tell you and her had a bit of scuffle with our old friend after dinner the night we all met up. She says that you were probably the bravest man she had ever met."

Benson blushed slightly from the admiration.

"I also got a call this morning before I left from the hospital where Don is staying," he continued. "Yet another run in with Bad News and you still surprise me."

"Well, Skips helped sir," Benson reminded him.

"Be that as it may, you still showed courage in the line of duty. I don't think I could do that considering it's attacked me a few times myself. So, Benson," Maellard said, putting an emphasis on using his correct name, "I have more than enough faith that you can complete something as simple as this. After all, if you are able to survive that creature five times, then putting together a small little area in the park should be no problem."

He bid goodbye to both men, and said he, "expected to hear great thing from the staff," by next week. He called for his fare, and both Tim and Maellard left the park for the rest of the day.

Benson was surprised to find that not only did Maellard actually say his name correctly, but he also had faith in his work. He stood there actually feeling inspired and encouraged for it. When was the last time Maellard actually commented him on anything like that? In fact, when was the last time anyone had ever commented on how good a job Benson does around the park with such sincerity in their eyes?

He looked over to Pops who had an excited look upon his face, fully aware of the confidence Benson was brimming over with now. "So should we get started, Benson?" Pops asked.

Benson smiled down at him, puffed up his chest with poise, and answered with a surprisingly loud, "Let's do this!"

The room next door to them rustled and banged about as two pairs of footsteps trotted out of the room, into the hallway, and peeked into the office.

"Keep it down!" Mordecai yelled with half closed eyes.

"Yeah!" Rigby added. "The alarm doesn't go off for another ten minutes! So keep your cranking down, 'K Benson?"

Benson looked at the duo dumbfounded and cocked his neck in confusion. Then a mischievous smile began to creak and curve onto his face. He looked at Pops for some sort of approval. The lollipop man knew what he was going to do, and just this once, gave him permission to unleash it all. The smile spread further, and an evil snarl with anticipation and the anger and destruction of a thousand gods and angels seeped all into Benson's gears and cogs.

"I got the perrrrrrrrfect job for you two…"

- Pony stable duty from then to lunch

- Snack bar duty for another two hours

- Mowing the lawn for another three

- And convincing the camp of orcs near the edge of the park to leave peacefully.

That last part was pretty much impossible for them to do. So when it came time for Benson's break, he watched from a hillside as Mordecai and Rigby were chased around by spear and sword carrying orcs. He wondered how long it would take the two of them to realize that those weapons they were running from were just foam toys.

* * *

><p>There are usually two kinds of exhaustion when brought on by physical labor. The first one is the most common, which usually involves a slow arduous trudge toward a mental and bodily breakdown. The body becomes weak and has no more energy to expend, while the brain begins to play tricks on a person's psyche, distorting the flow or time and bringing about a never ending boredom. In these cases, someone is capable or anger, depression, anxiety, and just out and out restlessness.<p>

The second one is usually more rare, but worth it if it can be obtained: This type of exhaustion, while carries with it the same bodily fatigue, does not have with it the usual mental depravities as its predecessor. On the contrary, this type of exhaustion creates confidence and pride in ones work. It allows time to flow more swiftly, wishing for more to continue the labor at hand. It also gives a sense of accomplishment and tells the body that the pain it is feeling is in fact, a good sort of pain. This was the type that Benson was feeling at that moment.

Benson walked into his apartment building still covered in sweat from the day's work load, but he felt remarkably good. Encouragement from his boss, working hard on a stage he was really liking, and to top it all off, he got to torture his two most annoying workers for the day. He made a mental note not to do anything too cruel to Mordecai and Rigby for the next few days, and tried to think of something to make it up to them. Maybe he could extend their breaks by another fifteen minutes or so. That would make them both happy, especially when they visited the girls at the Coffee Shop.

The gumball machine dashed over to his apartment door enthusiastically and pulled out the key to open it. A strange smell permeated around the door. He took a few good sniffs, and found his mouth was beginning to water. Something smelled good. He opened the door, and stepped inside his home.

He grinned with surprise as he found Skips over the stove, cooking something up that smelled like heaven.

"Well, look at this!" Benson announced, catching the attention of the yeti.

Skips turned around and waved the gumball machine a quick hello.

"So we're cooking now?" Benson continued. "You don't have to do that you know. I could have just fixed something for myself."

"Nah, nah," Skips argued, "it's the least I could do since you gave me the day off. Plus, I was getting really bored anyways."

"What did you end up doing all day?" Benson asked as he walked over to the kitchen area. "Besides sleep I mean."

"Mostly just slept," Skips replied, flipping whatever he was cooking in the skillet. "I got up about four hours ago, so I'm pretty well rested for the next couple of days. I also cleaned up your place a little bit: swept, vacuumed, made your bed – mostly little stuff."

Benson took a glance around his home. It did seem a little nicer than usual. He had intended to pick the place up a little bit, but he was too exhausted after work to even care about his home life. "Thanks, I guess," he said, scratching the back of his head.

Skips chuckled before placing some food on a plate. "I said I was getting bored, didn't I?"

Benson laughed as well and patted the yeti on the back. This intrigued Skips. Benson actually had an aura of good will and fortune all around him.

"You look like you're in a good mood," he said. He tapped the spatula on the side of skillet and continued to cook. "What's got you so happy?"

Benson sighed with a tired appreciation, and wrapped his arm around Skips neck, and let his arm hang off his shoulder in a friendly manner. "I just had a good day at the park today," he answered. "I'll tell you what happened as soon as I get out of the shower."

"And I should have this food done by the time you get back," the yeti confirmed to him.

Benson headed to the shower right after that, ready for the cool water to wash the stink off of him from a long day's work load. He jumped in, cleaned his chassis, and jumped on out. He was hungry, and wanted to get a good taste of Skips' cooking. The yeti had always been known to make some good meals, and Benson was sure that this one was no exception.

As soon as his body was good and dry, he exited the bathroom and returned to the front room. Sure enough, Skips already had some plates and such already put out filled with pancakes, hash browns, and sausage.

"Breakfast for dinner?" Benson joked.

"Well it's my breakfast anyways," Skips laughed. "Now c'mon! Dig in, and tell me why you of all people are in such a good mood."

And so the two ate dinner, talking about Benson's day and all the good that came with it. Skips was surprised to hear about Maellard's plans for an amphitheater and also for a small stage designed for local performances and such. A little art never hurt anything, Skips thought to himself. He had been an actor at one point in his life so he supported what they were up to.

"How much of the stage did you guys get finished?" he asked taking a bite of his pancakes.

Benson played with his hash browns a bit as he continued with the conversation. "We got the area dug up and plowed down already. Pops suggested we do it like a circular stage with everyone surrounding the area. I thought it was a good idea, so we're going with that. When we called Maellard about it, he said he'd even put some money in for marble flatbed for the actual stage. I'm really surprised, actually."

"Sounds like he's really going all out," Skips said.

"I don't think this is anything to him," Benson said with a full mouth. "I'm sure the whole thing is gonna be pretty cheap in comparison to the other theater he wants to put up. God knows this city already has stadium's, and concert halls, and bowling alleys, and just about a bunch of other stuff that his company has built, but do you think a gigantic amphitheater in the middle of the park is a good idea?"

Skips thought about it for a moment. On one hand, it would help bring in the additional patrons the park desperately needed. On the other hand, it would also be a major eye sore to the park. Then again…

"I don't think it's any big deal," the yeti said. "Besides, you know how big the park is. I think it's bigger on the inside then it is looking at it from the outside."

He had a point, Benson thought to himself. It did seem like the park was getting bigger everyday by the looks of it. It could have been another one of the strange occurrences that happened so often, or it could just been their imagination.

"Did he say he was going to afford any electronics for you all? You know, special effects, speakers, lights?" Skips asked.

Benson shook his head and let out a puff of air. "I think lights are the only thing he was going to buy for us. He didn't want to take a chance with speakers. Something about reading a news story about people building a stage and possessed speakers and electronics or something like that."

Skips cocked an eyebrow and dubiously laughed. "You kidding? Who seriously writes crap like that?"

Benson joined in the hilarious riot, lightening the already pleasant mood into something that actually felt friendly. Benson enjoyed it. His day was actually coming out to being a nice turn of events after the past few weeks he'd had.

"Thanks for this," he said to Skips. "It's nice to have a good meal with a friend, without it turning into a struggle for survival, or having to fix problems, or anything like that."

Those words pushed Skips' spirit up, and allowed the yeti to feel good about the day as well, even if it had been mind numbingly boring. "Even you need some time to relax and let loose every now and then, like at the roller rink, remember?"

"That was fun," Benson admitted. "I still remember the look on Veronica's face when we won. It was just absolutely priceless. I kind of wish I could have gotten a picture or something of that."

"You always got the memories," Skips heartened.

Benson nodded in agreement and finished up the rest of his plate. Skips watched on as small little curious wonderings went through his head of why an inanimate life form would even need to eat in the first place. At some point, he was going to need to hunker down and actually do some research on the subject. There were also a few other questions that stemmed from that as well, going into resting habits, age length, courtship…

"Hey Benson," he said out of the blue, "about you and Veronica."

The gumball machine stared up at the mention of with ex-girlfriend's name and sat there awaiting the yeti's wondering thoughts to be poised.

Skips watched back, looking into his eyes, his mind now wondering if they were even real or a made part of himself. They were waiting for him to ask his question. Anytime Veronica or Dave was brought up, Benson always went on full alert and created an air about him that suggested sadness or regret. And every time Skips brought it up, he always ended it with a quick, "never mind," before going along with his day. But today…

"Do you still like her?" he finally asked.

Benson flinched at the question. No one had ever bothered to ask him that before. He never even cared to ask himself that after the eventual breakup/abandonment, whichever you wanted to call it. Even he had to think about the answer to that question. Still, it came sooner than expected.

"No," he said with a straight face, "I don't like her anymore. I just resent her now."

Skips watched as Benson did his best to fight back cruel memories of their relationship. He suddenly wished he hadn't asked that question. "Okay," he replied, "I just wanted to know is all. No reason."

The conversation ended there, replaced with discussions about getting the dishes cleaned up and what had to be worked on tomorrow. Benson assured Skips he'd catch him up on what needed to be done with the park stage and also what the first production was going to be for that kid's party. And then, it was time for Skips to go.

"Thanks for the day off," Skips said outside the apartment threshold, "I guess I needed the sleep more than I thought."

Benson folded his arms and leaned against the door frame of the entrance. "You deserved it. You barely ask for days off as it is, so it's fine with me. Besides, even you need some time to relax and let loose every now and then."

Skips grinned at him. Now where had he heard that before?

"Hey, I let loose more than you, ya know," Skips laughed.

Benson shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. "I'm a little jealous of you with that actually. You and the rest of the staff seem to have all the fun."

"Well, maybe you should join us every now and then," the white beast suggested. "Maybe you'll loosen up and won't feel so left out."

The shorter man rolled his eyes cynically and said: "Do you really think Mordecai and Rigby would ever invite me to any of their fun?"

Skips couldn't follow that one up with some good advice. If Mordecai and Rigby could get away with having fun without Benson, then their days were better for them.

"Tell ya what," Skips began, "next time we all decide to do something crazy or fun, I'll invite you whether they like it or not."

"And if it's something that'll threaten our jobs?" Benson followed up.

Skips sighed and put his hands on Benson's shoulders. "You need to loosen up Benson. I promise you you'll be a lot of happier if you do."

"I need this job, Skips," Benson hastily countered. "Without it I got nothing."

Skips frowned at him sympathetically. "You got me, you know."

"Maybe," Benson muttered.

Uncomfortable silence filled whatever was left of their discussion after that. Skips' hands slid off the metallic surface, and danged lazily back to his side. He didn't like hearing Benson be so gloomy and ambiguous. His stare was vacant and lost in thought, and his body was tensing up.

"How about I stay over again tonight." Skips suggested. "We can relax, and maybe go out and have our own fun. We can talk... about things." He put a grin on his face to emphasize his good humor for the gumball machine, and prayed it translated well.

Benson sighed and stepped away from the door frame, and put his hand on the door. "Thanks for dinner, Skips. I'll see you tomorrow at work."

Skips was about jump back into the apartment, but Benson was already slowly closing the door, and he didn't want to be so forceful on his coworker. "Yeah," was the only thing he managed to say before the door was completely closed and locked.

The yeti stood there in disbelief as he tried to put all the pieces together. He looked over to the window, and found the blinds had closed. With no way to get in or look in, Skips leaned his back against the door and slid down to the ground. He needed a couple of minutes to think, and his legs didn't feel like moving properly for some reason or another.

The mood was so dark and haphazard now. It felt like everything around him was dimmer for some reason. Why did Benson suddenly push him away like that? Why was Benson even acting like that at all?

He sat on the floor against the door for a few minutes, waiting for his mind to clear and return to its usual state of neutrality and rationalization. It seemed to be having trouble though. He could only think about what Benson was up to on the other side of the door. Did he suddenly hate him, or was he just annoyed of his presence there? Skips wanted to know what he did to upset the gumball machine so suddenly. But he wasn't going to get an answer today.

Benson watched from a crack in the blinds as Skips eventually got up and skipped away. He stepped back and sat down in his chair.

He called himself an idiot and began to massage the bridge of his nose. As he sat there and thought about everything that involved himself and the yeti. There was something missing in of it that he couldn't quite put together. It was that one phrase that put him on edge for some reason, and he wasn't sure why.

"You got me, you know…"

What did it mean? Was Skips truly that caring of the gumball machine, or was there an ulterior motive behind it. Benson rarely saw Skips ever get attached to anyone when they first started working at the park together. Now, he was attached to his coworkers, calling them friends. He was attached to the park, calling it his home. And he was attached to Benson, giving him solemn promises and hope.

Benson didn't know why his mind was thinking so hard about the yeti. He wondered if it was compassion, or maybe worry for the man. But if that were the case, then why did Benson pretty much slam the door in his face?

Something scared the man, and he wasn't sure what it was.

For some reason, he felt very alone. It was a specific type of loneliness though. It was one he rarely felt, usually reserved for broken hearts. Whatever it was, something inside him felt like it was breaking.

He sat in his chair staring into a blank screen on the television before getting up and going to the bedroom. He came back out with a pillow in hand as he jumped back into the chair. Benson took one last look around the room before switching on the TV to some random channel, he didn't care what. When something looked like it would make for good background sound, he turned on his side, and cuddled with his pillow.

**False Alarm - **_KT Tunstall_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

What a fun chapter to write! I really love talking about characters while advancing the plot slightly. Not a lot really happened in today's chapter, but there was a lot of character interaction, and I really like writing that. I hope you all enjoyed it too. I bet you guys have been noticing the chapters have been getting longer as well. Believe me, this second half of the story is gigantic, so be prepared for extremely large chapters later on.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	18. Starling

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Starling**

"The Mis-Adventures of Flapjack, eh?" Don said flipping through the childrens picture book. "I haven't read any of these since I was a kid."

"Me neither," Benson said as he too flipped through another of the books.

Don stopped on a page and looked at the darkly crude drawings of the little boy and his captain companion talking to a bartender. He held a nostalgic smile across his face as he read the lines of text beneath the picture to himself. "You know, our parents got us these books all the time. Rigby really liked the pictures in them, but never really liked to read. So when we got the new books, I'd always read em to Rigby. He actually fell asleep against me this one time while I was reading – absolutely adorable!"

Benson smirked at the thought of an adult Rigby doing that with Don, and actually thought the image was somewhat cute in a familial sort of way. Looking at the raccoon today, he wouldn't be surprised if it actually happened.

Don handed the book back to Benson, and leaned back with his hands planted firmly on the concrete bench. He looked up into the blue sky and sun, shining down into the atrium above their heads. Unlike the rest of the hospital, this place didn't feel as cold and sterile as the rooms and hallways, and actually gave a surprising facsimile of the outdoors and the tranquility that came with it.

"So who are you playing then?" Don asked his gumball friend.

Benson murmured something and held up a wooden claw, accompanied by a nervous grin.

"K'nuckles," Don giggled, "really?"

"Pops thinks he's the perfect fit for me," Benson replied sardonically. "Frankly I think Rigby would have done a better job with it, but he gets to be a stage hand."

"Better to keep Rigbone behind the performance than in it, right?" Don stated.

Benson looked at the wooden prop and slashed at the air with it. "You ain't kidding, Don."

The young raccoon beamed at his friend, and let out a relaxed sigh. "Does anybody know that you're performing Flapjack for the kid's party tomorrow?"

"Just the mother," Benson answered.

"And she's alright with that? I hear a lot of parents nowadays don't like those books because the humor's too dark."

Benson tapped his fingers against the bench and shook his head. "She loved the books when she was a kid, and thinks the kids would like it too. I don't know about the other parents, but that's not our responsibility to alert them about what we're performing."

"I guess you're right," Don said.

They both looked around the atrium and took in the smell of fresh grass and bark falling off the trees. It astonished Benson just how clean the area was. The place was warm and peaceful, just like the park. The only difference was that no living thing was there save for probably the occasional bug. The entire room was all to Don and Benson. No other patient was running around doing this or that. It was still pretty early in the morning for them to be doing that anyways.

"So when are you getting out of here?" Benson said, breaking the sounds of "nature" that they were duly enjoying. "It seems like you've been in here forever."

"They say they're going to release me once they're sure I'm not a threat to myself or anyone else," Don replied. He frowned as he remembered that even though he was in a naturalistic atrium with real trees and grass, he was still stuck in a mental ward, and he'd been there for what felt like an eternity.

Benson patted him on the back and resumed to looking around the large room.

Don's smile perked up a bit from the general show compassion. "Dr. Ploddevize said I could go see your performance though, as long as he and a nurse got to stick around nearby."

"How nice of him," Benson said. "I wonder where that consideration was whenever I was having check ups with him?"

The raccoon laughed and placed an arm around the gumball machine's side, pulling him in close. "He's not that bad. You just gotta get to know him a little better, Benson!"

"I guess," the candy dispenser sighed. He looked down at the arm warmly placed on his side, and gave Don a bothered look. "This is just sugar I hope," he said with slight annoyance in his voice.

Don coughed and cleared his throat nervously. "I promise it's just sugar… maybe there's a little honey in there, but not a whole lot. I think I'm finally starting to get over it; still really hurts though."

Benson understood where he was coming from, but knew it was unhealthy to indulge the raccoon like this. He took the arm from off his side and placed it over his shoulder. It worked much better as a friendly implication, and wasn't as suggestive. Don moaned in disapproval at first, but kept his hand where it was placed.

"I've made a mess of things, haven't I?" he asked.

"A little bit," Benson admitted, "but then again… I think everyone in the park has done it a few dozen times. We'll just say that it's your initiation into the staff." Benson watched Don's expression change to a sad grin before returning to a frown. He patted the raccoon on the back again and added, "If you want to stay on, I mean."

"I think I'll probably just stick to accounting on my own after this," Don said. "Maybe I'll take a little vacation after I get out of the hospital to clear my head or something, but I really just want to go back to accounting on my own."

It didn't shock Benson that Don wanted to return to the way things used to be. Part of Benson wished that things would do the same around the park. Ever since Bad News made its debut, everyone kept to pins and needles and had become terrified of the eventual what ifs. Benson could understand wanting to return to everything to a much simpler time.

"Still," the raccoon continued, "it's something to look forward to. And you know what? I think tomorrow is going to be a good day!"

"I hope so," Benson said worried. "I really hope so."

Don gave him one more fast grin and pulled the machine in for another round of hospital mental ward sugar in the quiet little atrium.

* * *

><p>And so a new day was upon them, and the staff eagerly prepared for their performance. For once, Rigby and Mordecai were actually up on time and getting ready, with Mordecai donning his outfit quickly, and Rigby lounging around, waiting for the actual thing to start. Skips joined him as a stage hand, but more so to make sure the raccoon actually got his job done. Muscle Man put some finishing touches on his "costume", while High Five Ghost was working the lighting for the performance. As for Pops: it was Benson's decision to make him the director, seeing as how Pops absolutely adored the source material, he believed the naïve man would be able to do the story justice.<p>

This left Benson with most of the day to set up the actual birthday party, and finalize anything that the play needed before curtain call sometime after dusk. The last time they put this much effort into a birthday party, Mordecai and Rigby summoned some sort of 8-bit arcade creature that wrecked about a third of the park. Benson was lucky that the kids still had fun, but wasn't so fortunate when he had to deal with the sudden deaths of a clown and his cohort. This time though, Benson was confident that the same thing or something similar wouldn't happen again.

The tables had already been set up with plates and plastic wear, as well as hats and party favors for the children when they got there. It was conveniently placed next to the newly built stage so that the kids wouldn't have to move such a long distance to see the show. The gumball machine looked at the set they had put so much hard work into: a circular stage with a marble flatbed with wooden benches circling all around them. Lights were hung up from behind, allowing for night performances, with the whole thing slightly sunk in so that all viewers could see everything no matter where they sat. It was simple, it was cheap, but most of all though, the entire staff actually worked together in order to accomplish this. Mordecai and Rigby even put in some effort when it came to the lighting, and the the blue jay definitely pushed forward when he found out that Margaret was coming. Of course, there was more than one reason for her coming though.

"How do I look?" ask a dry feminine voice from behind the machine.

Benson stopped straightening up the tables and turned around to find a short mole girl dressed up in a ship mate's attire, with a blonde wig and sailor's hat on. The gumball machine let out a few chuckles before saying, "You look great, Eileen!"

"You don't look too bad yourself," Margaret added, as she joined up with Eileen. She was dressed in her usual off duty clothes of a solid colored shirt and some jeans – a stark comparison to her friend and coworker in costume.

Benson looked at himself at the tacky little brown coat with a striped shirt underneath. "Well, it gets the job done," he said, tipping his captain's hat to the girl.

"So what are we gonna do today then, cap'n?" Eileen said in a surprisingly authentic voice that mimicked the old cartoon show from long ago. Benson had never seen the show, being that he preferred the books, but he knew what the title character sounded like, and Ms. Eileen was quite spot on.

Benson took a deep breath, and in a broken and raspy voice he said, "Go on an adventure?" He didn't sound too sure of himself, and his lip seemed to be twitching from each word.

"You don't sound very sure of yourself," Margaret commented.

The gumball machine smiled and shrugged at her, returning to straightening up the table. "It's funny," he began, "I can dance, I can play a wide variety of sports, I can sing, I can play guitar and drums, and a whole plethora of instruments, but in the end, I'm just not a very good actor."

"Well I don't think I am either," Eileen said to him, "but I think as long as you're having fun, the kids won't worry about either of us being terrible actors."

Margaret looked down at her friend with a surprised stare, and huffed out an astonished laugh. "Are you kidding me Eileen? You're like one of the best actresses I've ever seen! Didn't you star as Panini in that downtown production of Chowder?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't anything that big," Eileen sighed.

"Wait a minute," Benson interrupted, "I heard about that show. Wasn't one of the reasons everyone went to see it was because of the actress playing Panini?"

Margaret nodded, and then Benson gave Eileen the same look. The mole looked up at them in embarrassment and tried to find a way out. "Oh, is that Rigby off in the distance? I think I'll go say hi!" She made off like a bandit right as she finished, running towards someone that obviously wasn't there.

The bird and machine laughed not too soon after.

"She really will be a good Flapjack," Margaret said to Benson.

"I don't doubt it," Benson said to Margaret.

They both laughed a bit further, enjoying the shy nature of Eileen and her mannerisms. Eventually, they cooled and Benson returned to his work.

"So how are things?" Margaret asked. "I haven't heard much from you since the roller rink, other than you coming in for a few moments to tell us about the play. I had no idea how excited Eileen would be to work along side Rigby. Sorry I couldn't help with anything."

"Don't worry about," Benson answered. "I didn't even invite you all to perform. She was the one who offered, and we needed a lead anyways, so I went, what the heck." He looked down at his work, and believed he was finished. "And to answer your question, Margaret, I'm doing alright. C'mon, let's walk back to the house."

She nodded and followed along with him, standing to his side and continuing the conversation they were having. "You still don't sound very sure of yourself," she replied to his answer. "Is there something going on?"

Benson sighed and watched some patrons run past them in an athletic sprint. "I've been feeling really weird lately – like I've been walking on egg shells for some reason."

"Well why do you think that is?" she asked.

"I don't know really. I mean, after Skips and I won at the roller rink, it just felt like things were getting a lot better. But for some reason, I feel like I'm trying to be careful about something, like there's something that's keeping me from going all out, you know?"

"I still don't know where you're coming from, Benson."

"It's like… it's like I'm there, but I'm not. Mentally and physically, I'm actually relaxed and happy for a change. It just feels like everything is finally going my way. But spiritually? I feel really distant, and have been really careful about the things I've been doing. Skips told me I should try to loosen up, and for some reason those words kind of got to me a bit. Then he said something like, 'I'm here for you,' and that really freaked me out."

Margaret's mind went into a deep thought on those words. She didn't know Skips well enough to conjure a possible solution to his statement, but knew the yeti probably meant well and was only trying to make his boss feel better. "I don't think it's something to worry about," she said. "I think Skips was just trying to tell you that you need to take more risks and that if anything happens, he'll make sure to catch you when you fall."

"I don't know, Margaret," Benson continued. "It's not the fact that Skips actually said that that bothers me. The more I think about it, the more I think, maybe it's me. Maybe after all the shit I've gone through earlier in my life, I'm just scared of people telling me they'll be there and then disappearing on no fault of my own… kind of like Dave and Veronica."

"I know a lot about you and Veronica already," Margaret added. "She's a bitch, plain and simple. But this Dave guy, who was he exactly? Was he your boyfriend or something after her?"

Benson shook his head, but then stopped halfway, giving her a strange nod that suggested insecurity on the subject. "He was… my friend, after Veronica. I don't think you could call him my boyfriend or anything like that. I mean, sure, he and I did… ummm… we did sleep together a few times, but that was more because of loneliness on both our parts. Actually, he was my student when I was going through a stick hockey phase. He just kind of showed up one day out of the blue and asked me to train him, so I did. We became friends after that, and in some cases, I guess you could say… twisted lovers maybe?"

Margaret cracked a skeptical grin. "Twisted, huh? What was so twisted about it?"

Benson shrugged a bit and continued: "Well it's like, every so often when we got lonely, we just ended up 'together'. I don't mean we were romantic or anything like that. We just got really close to one another and sometimes one thing would lead to another and… you probably know what that means, right?"

"So friends with benefits, then?" Margaret asked.

"Not entirely," he answered back. "It wasn't like we called each other and asked to come over and screw. It just happened. All the while both he and I were looking for people to call our own, but always came up empty handed. So I guess when on those nights when he and I couldn't stand the isolation, we just ended up together. What's funny was that we never called each other on it, we just came together. I know it sounds romantic and like some idealistic story tale ending, but it definitely wasn't. We just never felt like that around each other. I mean, hell, we never even wanted sex to begin with. It just happened. I'll bet that's kind of hard to believe, huh?"

"Not as much as you think," Margaret said to him. "I mean, you guys just couldn't stand to be lonely or anything. I think its fine as long as no one gets hurt. It does seem a bit unhealthy to me though. I mean, if you're not doing it for sex or romance, then why were you doing it? Not to mention that you were his teacher and he was supposed to be your student, which is kind of wrong the more I think about it."

"Yeah, I know," the man sighed. "We both even knew that. But we just kept it going, up until the day…"

"Did you two enjoy it at least?"

"Yes, and no," Benson went on. "I mean, it was a nice feeling to have. But afterwards, I think the both of us felt like garbage, but didn't want to admit it. We knew that what we were doing was wrong, and at some point, we just found ourselves going through the motions. We were addicted to each other I guess. It was painful, but it was really soothing too. I don't know if what we had could even be called a friendship in the end. We just… ended up curled up next to each other some nights, not sleeping, or doing anything. We just laid there."

Margaret thought for a moment. She needed time to let this info seep into her brain. One particularly question did pop in, though she was hesitant to ask it. "Benson," she coughed, "how did Dave die?"

Benson stopped in his tracks. Margaret got a few steps in before she turned around and found him behind her. His face had gone still, trapped in some sort of memory of his past. "Benson?" she muttered with worry.

"It was my fault," he whispered to himself. "If I hadn't taken him to that stupid tournament…" His hands began to shake and voice started to crack. "I didn't know, that they he was going to do that to Dave. And then what Dave said afterwards…"

Margaret rushed over to him and enveloped him in her wings. She pulled him in tightly and tried to get him to calm down before the tears came.

Benson took some shallow breaths, and kept his tears in. On some days when he thought about it, he thought nothing of the event and believed Dave's death was only caused by a sore cheater. On some days, he would cry with a broken emotional glare at something that wasn't even in front of him. On some days, he wouldn't cry but it would depress him. And on some days, like today, he just couldn't stand being reminded of Dave and how it happened. He did the best he could to collect himself. He had mourned for his friend too many times to go ballistic right then. He needed to calm down.

"I'm sorry," Margaret whispered. "I didn't mean to make you remember something like that. I just wanted to… never mind."

"Its fine," Benson sighed. "It's alright, I promise. Some days are just better than others when I think about it." He sniffled a bit and took a few more deep breaths to relax his nerves.

Margaret pulled away a bit, her wings on his shoulders. She grazed her beak across his cheek and cooed a small wisp of warm breath to him. "He was your friend, and you loved him. And I'm sure he loved you the same way all friends do to each other. Just remember that, okay?"

Benson nodded, and continued to take his breaths.

"Besides," Margaret went on, her mood suddenly shifting for the better. "Captain K'nuckles shouldn't be a sad person. He's supposed to be a rough and tough guy, who makes a lot of mistakes and is dumb as nails."

The automaton laughed a bit, and nodded. "I know what you're saying Margaret. Thanks."

"It's what I'm here for, Benson," she said. "We all have problems. Believe me."

"Let's change the subject then," Benson huffed. "How are you doing, Margaret?"

She moaned and pulled away. They both began to walk along again toward the house. "I think things are fine… but they might get weird… and maybe a little bad depending on what happens."

"Why do you say that?" Benson asked, finally collecting himself.

Margaret picked up the pace a bit and took some breaths of her own. "Because I'm going to actually ask Mordecai out… and I'm going to tell him up front about… my feathers." She picked up into nearly a run, almost as if she was trying to get away from the gumball machine. In reality, she was. She knew Benson was probably going to object to it.

Benson matched her speed and kept on moving. "Are you sure about that?" he yelled to her. "Do you think he'd be able to handle it?"

"Probably not, but you know: he likes me, and I like him, and I won't be at that coffee shop for too much longer now. My classes are getting too hectic for me, so I need to focus on them. But I don't want to leave things as they are between us, so I'm gonna ask him out right after the performance and just tell him up front." She stared at Benson, and frowned in worry. "I know it's a bad idea, but I was just hoping…"

"Go for it," Benson said to her.

She stopped in her tracks, kicking up dirt and grass in the process. "What! You actually want me to go through with it?"

Benson smirked a shit eating grin, and patted her on the shoulder. "Now who's sounding unsure of them self?"

"Look Benson," she quickly began, "I was entertaining the thought. I didn't think I was actually going to do it. I think I was just wanting to get your reaction, and to be honest, I wasn't expecting you to say that. You know I can't tell Mordecai any of that stuff. It would break his heart."

"But it eats you up inside, doesn't it?" Benson asked.

"Well… yeah. But it's a hard thing to swallow…"

"Just do it," Benson snapped. "You'll never know what'll happen unless you do it. And who cares if he hates you afterwards? It'll hurt a bit, but it just goes to tell you that it wasn't meant to be. And who knows. Mordecai is a pretty smart kid. Maybe he'll end surprising you in the end."

"I don't know…"

"It's fine, Margaret," he comforted her. "Trust me."

She stood there in awe for a moment, until she finally looked at him with terrified eyes. "I'll try… but only if you're nearby when it happens. And Eileen too! At least that way if something bad does happen, I got you two to fall back on."

"And there you go then," Benson said, finishing up that subject. "We both got stuff to be worried about. But you know what, if you can ask Mordecai out, then I guess I can try to loosen up, couldn't I?"

Margaret let out an uneasy bit of laughter, but agreed with him. She wasn't sure if either one of them believed those words, but went along with it. It was better then thinking about the alternative.

When they agreed with each other on their issues, they looked out ahead and noticed the park house nearby. And while they both committed to having a better day after those little conversations, they were both still worried about the constant what ifs, as they and everyone else in the park usually did.

* * *

><p>The children came and the party went off with absolutely no problem. Pizza and cake were served to all the youngsters, presents were opened by the birthday girl, and the park crew who were already dressed up in their costumes played with the kids and enjoyed the time spent with them. Even Margaret helped out a bit by snapping some pictures of the party guests with the park staff. There were so many smiles on everyone's faces that it was hard to count them all.<p>

And then, the time finally came for them to get up on stage and do what they set out to do. The kids were all seated together on a few of the benches, with parents sitting behind them so they could keep a close eye out of their children. On the other side of stage, Maellard, Tim, Don, Ploddevize – who was miserably hitting on an accompanying nurse – and Margaret all sat together waiting for the show to start. The red robin had her camera out at all times, ready to take some pictures of the performance and post them in the Coffee Shop to hopefully spur some interest in local groups using the new performance stage. Tim and Don conversed about stocks and marketing, while Maellard remained in his place, curious as to the outcome of the performance.

Pops sat to himself up in one of the vacant bleachers. He carried a clipboard close to his chest, and was hyperventilating from the anxiety of directing the show. He hoped that his vision wasn't too warped, and that the children would love the show. Pops wanted to be alone while the performance was going anyways. His thought needed to be cleared as he debated what could be changed and if the actors were the right choice for their characters. Above all else, his father was watching him, and was eagerly anticipating to see where his son's direction took him.

Above all the seats, High Five Ghost tinkered with the lights, and brought them up to start the show. Behind him, Skips took a deep breath, and kept his sight on Rigby at all time, making sure the raccoon didn't miss a beat with his cues to help change the set around.

The stage at current was laid out to look like a dock on a sea port. Wood painted blue and shaped to look like waves stood up to give the impression of water, while a flat piece of dock represented its name sake.

Skips then pulled out a boom box, and blasted the sound up high, revealing a charming little sea chantey that echoed throughout the stage.

Benson and Eileen jumped out in costume, and started the show.

"Hey, hey, Flapjack!" Benson sung in a poorly acted rasp. "Come with me, we'll go and see a place called Candied Island!"

A lump of blue fabric and felt comes out onto the stage, poorly designed, but obviously looking like a whale. It lifts its head up to reveal Muscle Man, with his face painted bright blue. "Who needs Candied Island, bro?" he sung the verse. "It's cooler at the docks!"

Benson grimaced at the man changing the lyrics, but did his best to keep character and sing the next verse without letting his anger get out of control.

"But there ain't no streams of sody pop go drippin' down the rocks!"

"It's dangerous or scary!" Muscle Man continued, apparently not knowing the exact lyrics at this point.

"But adventurous and free!" Benson yelled.

Eileen jumped up and sung, "Adventure that's the life for me!"

Benson was taken a back at first from Eileen's beautiful singing voice, but had to keep on cue. He couldn't miss anything while on stage. "There's lollypop trees and a lemonade sea!"

"You know who else likes lollypop trees and a lemonade sea?" Muscle Man quipped.

He didn't get a chance to answer as the nurse with Ploddevize took off her shoe and threw it at Muscle Man's head. It head him right on the nose. One of the mothers in the audience screamed, "THANK YOU!" before Muscle Man finally continued.

"Doesn't sound very fun to me," he pouted, feeling a temper tantrum coming on slowly.

Benson sighed, and Eileen giggled. And then all three of them took in a deep breath and screamed out the final verse.

"The Mis-Adventures of…"

And then Eileen sprang forward and delivered the last line with as much enthusiasm as she possible could. "Flapjaaaaaaaaaaack!"

The audience applauded the three of them, specifically Eileen. Pops wiped his brow, happy that his vision for the show was coming along so far with little difficulty, even if it was just the introduction. There was still another thirty minutes to worry about.

Margaret hurried down to the base of the stage and snapped a few pictures of the three in their costumes on the set. Eileen laughed at the audience and the flash photography, remembering why she took up acting a while ago as it was. Benson whispered for her to try and stay in character, and that snapped her out of her glamour. Muscle Man puffed out some agitated grunt and muttered, "I could do that if I too if I wanted." Nobody cared what he had to say about it.

The lights went down, and Rigby and Skips hurried to the center stage, picking up this and that, and placing the new set pieces. Mordecai fumbled in the dark to get behind the newly set up counter, and hoped that his own rendition of Peppermint Larry was enough for the kids to handle. As the lights went up, Rigby exited the stage holding up a sign that told the audience what book they were basing the play off of.

When the audience knew the title of the play, he ran off stage with Skips. The play had officially begun.

* * *

><p>The cast was surprised by how fast the play went by, and just how much fun they had doing it. All the kids approached the staff and asked questions and begged for autographs from their favorite characters. It was all such a joy for the park staff, and even the parents came forth and congratulated them on the performance. Muscle Man even got some kudos from Don, Tim, the nurse, and Ploddevize, who didn't do much complimenting as he was desperate to find a restroom after the performance. Tim rolled his eyes and helped show the good doctor where the restroom was.<p>

"You know who else likes lollypop trees and a lemonade sea?" Don winked to Muscle Man, while being pulled away to the park restroom.

The green man beamed greatly as they both screamed out, "MY MOM!" at the top of their lungs, which they followed up with righteous laughter.

Margaret used the last of her film on the post show congratulations and put her disposable camera away. She was happy to see everyone in such high spirits, particularly Benson. He seemed to accomplish his goal of loosening up for the show, pulling off a surprisingly convincing K'nuckles. She still hadn't complimented him on his acting yet, but thought it might be better to wait until all the kids had had their fill of him and Eileen.

When it was all said and done, it was time for the kids to go home. Benson and the crew waved good bye to them one by one as the parents put them in their cars, and drove off. When the last one was finally gone and out of sight, they rejoiced in being able to take off the extremely warm and slightly uncomfortable costumes. They threw the make shift wardrobe into a pile, and began to work through the process of cleaning up the area.

Muscle Man and High Five Ghost worked on cleaning the tables, while Skips and Rigby worked on cleaning up the stage, to the procrastination and complaining of the raccoon. Benson just worked on cleaning up the bench areas and sweeping up the marble of the stage.

"Fine job, Benson," Maellard said as he passed the gumball machine, "fine job, indeed."

Benson didn't reply to him, giving an accomplished smile and a nod instead. Maellard took it and gave the man a returning slant of his own. He approached his son and began to talk with him with a very serious look upon his face. Benson left them alone and continued on to cleaning up the area around him.

"Hey stage hand!" he said as he approached Skips. The yeti looked up from picking up wooden waves and smiled with coy at his boss.

"Hey there, K'nuckles," Skips joked at him. "I thought you were supposed to be a big, strong, tough guy. Why is it that Peppermint Larry beat you up so easily then?"

"I don't know," Benson laughed. "Maybe you should go ask Peppermint Larry himself."

He looked over at Mordecai's direction, and the smile on his face wiped from his face. Skips noticed the queer change of expression on Benson and wondered what was going with Mordecai that was causing such a sudden change in mood.

Mordecai, still dressed in his Peppermint Larry costume, looked as though he had seen a ghost. He stood in place by some of the bleachers with Margaret across from him. His mouth stood slack, his eyes seemed distant, his arms were frozen to his side, even his feathers looked as though they had gone a ghostly shade lighter.

"Oh no," Benson muttered to himself. His attention shifted from Mordecai to Margaret.

The girl stood slightly away from him, her gaze toward the ground. One arm held the elbow of the other limp one at her side. Her expression suggested disappointment and rejection.

"I guess she told him then, huh?" Skips supposed to Benson.

Benson didn't need to guess that she did. "Without me or Eileen nearby either."

The mood that was emanating around the two of them pretty much said everything. He watched as Margaret said something to him, probably an apology, and slowly turned her back to him and walk away. Benson didn't say good night to Skips before he began to sprint over to her. By the time he reached her, she was over the hill and out of sight of Mordecai.

"Margaret, are you...?"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, interrupting the gumball machine's care and sentiment. He paused where he was from her anger and simply watched the tears on her face come falling down. Her beak clicked in fury a few times, only to relax in a few seconds as her realization set in. She rushed over to Benson and hugged him swiftly.

She let the tears roll down onto his shoulder, the wetness bouncing off of him or sliding down onto the ground faster then when they were on her feathers. Her sadness did not remain on Benson's body, and the only thing she could feel on her face was the cold and distant metal of a machine. Margaret desperately wanted to feel warmth, a heartbeat, or a pulse of some kind. Instead, she only had Benson there to comfort her. His body was not made for such things, only created and molded to do the thing he was set out to do. But though he lacked a heart and a body designed to give true comfort to one who was in turmoil, he still had the one thing that mattered the most in that situation: a soul.

He held her close and let his body and mood relax. His insides whirled and clicked in a rage directed squarely at Mordecai. His mind told him to fire him on the spot, to rid the park and this broken girl of his sight. But Margaret wouldn't like that. He knew that she didn't want to be seen as "broken" and Benson knew that she wasn't truly. Emotionally, she was cracked a bit, but nothing that couldn't be repaired or replaced.

He cooed and whispered sweet nothings into her ears, telling her that it was alright and that he wasn't worth getting this upset over. She didn't believe him, but appreciated the sentiment that he was making an attempt to give her. She even angrily attacked his chassis, not sure if she was furious at Benson for "making" her admit it, or Mordecai for that terrified expression that was now frozen in her head.

Benson pulled away from the hug for a moment and gave her a friendly kiss on the beak. Though everything about his lifeless body seemed fake, they both knew that felt real. It was a true expression of concern and hope for the girl. He was giving her what he lost so long ago, and prayed it would give her the guidance she needed.

His eyes looked at the lonely and desperate expression on her face, and in a flash, he could see a blur of a memory of long ago. The beautiful red feathers and beak replaced with a head such as his own filled with a solid orange stream of candy. His chassis and hat were the same shade as his insides, only a messy pile of hair had sprouted out of his head in multiple directions.

_"We'll find our somebodies soon, right, Master?"_

Benson held in the nostalgia and scattered memories of his best friend that rushed from his head to his vision. He forced away the image, and brought himself back to Margaret. Like it or not, it was the same thing as Dave. Margaret was feeling the same way Dave did when he was still alive: rejection simply for being who they were.

He took in a deep breath, keeping his emotions in check. "Don't worry Margaret... we'll find our somebodies one of these days... both of us."

A few extra tears found their way down the red robin's cheek. But there was something else on her face now that gave Benson the excuse to smile at her with compassion and ease of worry.

She laughed.

It was only for a second, but it was enough.

Benson knew she would be alright then.

"C'mon," he whispered to her, and only her. "Let's go find Eileen, and we'll go get some ice cream or something to help ya feel better. My treat." And he took her by the hand and slowly led her away to find her mole friend.

But as they started to move, something suddenly scurried around at Benson's feet and disappeared. He jumped at first, and looked at the ground. Margaret asked what was wrong. He knew what he saw. He heard the sound of something jump around in the distance, and saw the shadow of something leering at the two of them. The park lamps that lit the street paths didn't give much to his vision, but it was obvious what it was. Even Margaret could see its outline now. Why now? What was it doing here now, of all times?

But then... it turned away, and ran off. What was it doing, Benson thought. All it did was look at he and Margaret and run away. Why didn't it attack?

Benson's paranoia swept over him, and held the girl's hands harder.

"Why didn't it come after us?" Margaret asked, trying to control the panic that was steadily rising.

Benson didn't know. Something didn't seem right.

**Starling –**_ Elbow_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

So much silly in this chapter, don't you think? I never was the biggest fan of Flapjack. Mostly hit or miss for me, but when I liked it, I was laughing my ass off. It seemed like a good fit considering the connection it has with Regular Show. Put that in with some drama, and a little character back story, and you got yourself the chapter! This was an alright chapter to write though. Strangely... I had more fun reading it than writing.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	19. Pops Smile

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Smile**

Benson sighed and stepped through the threshold into his apartment. His first thought was to sit down and do some thinking about what he had seen back at the park. Unfortunately, this had to wait as his phone was ringing off the hook even before he had stepped into his home. He made a quick run over to the device, and snatched up the receiver.

"Hello?" he said in a tired grunt.

"Oh, well, ummm…" the voice on the other line whimpered slightly. "Benson? It is you, isn't it?"

The gumball machine recognized the classy high pitched tone on the other end. "Pops?" he answered in a curious way. "What are you calling for? You know it's almost midnight, right?"

"Well, oh dear," Pops whimpered. "I know that it is certainly late, and I am sure that you are already getting ready to fall into slumber, but I was wondering if perhaps you and I could… oh, what is it that Mordecai and Rigby say – hang out?"

Benson let out another tired moan, and rested his head on his hand. He was too exhausted from earlier to try and argue his way out of it. "Sure, Pops, that's fine. We'll do something this week when the two of us get some free time, okay. Now look, I really gotta…"

"I meant right this instant," Pops interrupted. "I really want to 'hang out' with you right this instant."

Benson pulled the phone away from him and looked at it with an expression that screamed "are you serious?" His exhaustion made him think Pops would somehow see it, but he knew that no one had that ability. At least no one he knew.

"Do we really have to, Pops?" Benson asked. "I mean, I'm really tired from the party and the play and everything, and I really just want to go to bed. Can't it wait for tomorrow at least?"

"No, Benson! It has to be tonight!"

There was a sense of urgency in the man's voice that tipped Benson off that something might be wrong. Pops rarely got this flustered, especially when it was away from the park.

"Is there something wrong, Pops?" Benson finally asked. "You don't sound too good."

The phone went silent for a few seconds, interrupted occasionally by Pops heavy breathing. Benson was afraid something might have happened due to the oddly pensive tone of the conversation.

"I'm not alright, Benson. I really need to talk with someone right now."

Benson sighed and tried to force some adrenaline into his system to keep himself awake and astute. "Alright then, Pops. Where do you want to meet?"

* * *

><p>Benson walked up to the neon signs of Caio and let out another tired breath. He really didn't want to be there, his body begging for the emergence of sleep. He only put so many natural chemicals into his body to keep him going, and Benson wondered just how long he could last before sleep caught up to him and he just shut down completely. Even automatons needed rest every now and then.<p>

He yawned and walked in through the doors. The restaurant that he remembered from his date with Margaret, filled with the images of people laughing and talking, brimming with excitement, was not to his surprise, vacant; save for only a few talkers here and there as well as people at the bar. The matradee, who looked just as tired and exhausted as Benson, gave the machine a small grin and welcomed him to the restaurant.

"Table for one, or are you meeting someone sir?" he asked in quiet way.

Benson could see the bags under the human's eyes and wondered how bad he looked himself. "I'm meeting someone actually. I think the name might be under Pops Maellard, or just Pops, or something like that."

The matradee nodded and instructed Benson to follow him. "I know exactly who you are talking about. He's on the second floor. I'll show you there."

Benson expressed his gratitude to the man and followed along close to the back of the first floor, which eventually let on to a spiral staircase. They both climbed up it to a completely empty second floor, with the exception of a lone lollipop headed man sitting in a table by the banister, looking down at the almost empty restaurant. He noticed the two men coming his way, and gave them both a half hearted smile. Benson was surprised to see such little enthusiasm from Pops. Whatever was going on, it must of really worried the naïve man.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" the matradee asked Benson as he help seat him in the comfortable soft fabric chair.

"Anything with caffeine will do," the gumball machine replied kindly.

"You and me both," the human agreed with a laugh, finally walking away to go and collect a drink order. Benson and Pops were left alone with an entire floor to themselves.

"Sorry to bring you out here so late at night," Pops began, "but I just didn't know who to talk to about this."

"Its fine Pops," Benson yawned. "Really, don't worry about it. You're my boss, and if you have anything to discuss with me, you know I'm all ears."

Pops scratched his head with guilt and sighed. "Did you only come because I was your employer? I was hoping you had come because you are my friend."

Benson kicked himself for his choice of words and tried to back peddle his way out of making things worse. "We ARE friends Pops. I just automatically assumed it had to do with something work related is all, since we never actually do things together outside of the park."

Pops nodded and looked back down at the first floor. "I suppose I can understand that. We are chaps, but I forget that you have this tendency to put your work life ahead of your personal one."

Benson suddenly began to feel his eye twitch. Pops was right, just like everyone else who had brought it up. No matter how many times he heard it though, it still hurt. It reminded him too much of all the "talks" people had been giving him lately about loosening up and to just take things one step at a time, and to relax. He was actually starting to get sick of hearing it.

"It's," Benson started, pausing for a moment, "it's alright, Pops. I guess I do do that, don't I?"

"Quite so, I'm afraid," Pops continued. He said it with such bluntness it was almost coming out as an insult. This was completely uncharacteristic of Pops.

Benson was actually shocked to hear that kind of tone in his boss' voice. Whatever was going on must have been serious. "What's wrong, Pops?" he asked again. "You don't seem like yourself all of a sudden."

"Hmmm," the lollipop man sighed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that you're moping more than usual when you get in those kinds of moods," Benson began. "And I don't mean to say that you mope a lot of anything like that. It's just that when I see you get like this, it's usually for something small or manageable. I don't know, but this time you almost seem kind of hostile towards me. I mean, did I do something wrong, or is it the park, or is it your father…?"

The last word caused Pops to flinch suddenly. Benson had found the meaning behind Pops' strange attitude.

"So it's Maellard?" Benson continued. "What did your father do to you?"

Pops said nothing and continued to stare down at the world beneath him. "Look at all the jolly people down, Benson. I'm sure they all live relatively simple lives and don't have much to worry about in terms of responsibility. Much like you I'm sure."

Benson raised an eyebrow. Obviously, something didn't add up. He remembered Maellard pulling him aside earlier that day to talk to Pops about something. Did it have to do with that? "Hey Pops… what did your father say to you after the play?"

The older man sniffled and let out a stifled groan. "I really envy what you have, Benson."

He wasn't sure what was going on. Benson was clueless at the context of that and still had no idea what at all was going on. "Why would you envy me? Have you seen my life lately, Pops?" Benson let out a chuckle in a mocking tone, making fun of himself. It was hard to find the humor in all the little(huge) drama he had been experiencing, though.

"Well, yes," Pops answered, "but that is why I envy you."

Benson laughed again asking the old man to explain.

Pops nodded and said: "Well, it's just that you have been having all of this excitement as of late, while I have been working with Papa on the park and such since Bad News arrived. It's been such a bore, and I can't handle some of the things he has me do. But then I keep hearing stories about your adventures with protecting the park and your friends from Bad News, and your date with the lovely girl from the café, and even performing the park play."

Benson shook his head and tried to cheer the old man up. "But that was stuff that just came out of nowhere Pops. Ever since Bad News arrived, I've been going through nothing but meaningless drama, left and right. I got pulled into a hole, had my head broken, got bitched out on live television by some A-hole, had a disastrous date with a girl, had to deal with Bad News Quintel knows how many times by now, and to top it all off, I'm poor and live in an apartment by myself with no one else." Benson looked around and pointed his hands down to the first floor, waving them around carelessly. "C'mon Pops. There are better people out there for you to envy, believe me."

Pops turned his sights over to Benson, and smiled shyly. "I don't think you understand, Benson. You're only focusing on all the negative things, which make it seem like your life has been nothing but a bad show. You've helped save the park who knows how many times by now, you went on a wonderful date with Margaret and made her a new friend, you won a shoe wheel contest with Skips, and you performed marvelously at the play. I think your life is more exciting than you let it on to be."

Benson shrugged and leaned back in his seat. "Maybe," he said with no feeling. "At least it's gotten me out of that rut I've been in for the past few years."

"See?" Pops replied. "There was some good to it after all!"

Benson thought he could agree, but was having too much trouble seeing it. If there was any good coming out of his life as of late, it was being overshadowed by the drama and that hideous little creature that kept attacking everyone at the park. A sudden thought crossed his mind. It was something that he hadn't thought of in a while, and wanted to get Pops' opinion on the subject.

"Hey Pops," Benson said, straightening up in his seat, "why do you think it is that Bad News has been going after your father so much?"

The naïve man cocked his head to the side curiously at first, but returned with a smile not to soon afterwards. "I honestly could not tell you," he said with a surprisingly cool tone in his voice. "I know papa has had enemies in the past, and I know that some of them have been a bit more surly than others, but I've never heard of anyone willing to actually try and kill him."

"Think hard, Pops," Benson asked. "Does your father have anything in the past that could have warranted something like this? I mean, whatever Bad News is… or was, certainly has a thing out for him."

Pops thought long and hard about it. He remembered times when he was younger and saw his father get into fist fights with other business men, but those usually ended in a gentlemanly laughter. He remembered hearing about how his company destroyed the likes of others, but save for the occasion moot threat, there was nothing that ever surfaced. Even as Pops grew older, he couldn't think of a single event that could have caused his father to gain the hate of a begrudging evil.

"I'm sorry, Benson," Pops apologized, "but I can't think of anything my father could have done for him to deserve something like Bad News." He let his head hang down in shame, wishing he somehow knew his father better. "There are some things that even father does not tell me, I'm afraid."

Benson could understand that. He didn't expect Maellard to divulge his entire life story to his son. Whatever Maellard had done to deserve the reckoning that was Bad News, it was something that no one knew about. All he knew was that Maellard did that really pissed that creature off to the point of putting everyone's life in danger. It reflected on his victims too, especially Don who seemed to have taken a bit of the monster's personality when possessed. But Benson just couldn't figure it out. What was it? Murder? Kidnapping? Extortion? Rape? Some sort of genocide? It scared Benson to think Maellard could do any of that. It scared him even more to realize the Maellard actually did have the means to accomplish horrid things like that.

Pops looked up at Benson, still deep in thought, and sighed. "Perhaps that is why he wanted to talk to me today at the park."

This snapped Benson back into the present. His full attention was now completely focused on Pops. "What did he talk to you about, anyways?"

Even though there was the usual orchestral electronica blaring out of the speakers above head, everything just felt still and quiet as the two men conversed to one another about life. Pops' showed a bit of innocence even in moods such as this, but today; today Pops did not show that childish joy he had been known for. Tonight, he was scared and worried about something that he didn't understand, or even want to understand. His eyes were distant and lonely, and his body was slouched and heavy. He tried to grin, but just couldn't find the strength.

"Papa… told me he was impressed with my direction during the play," he said quietly, almost in a whisper.

Benson shook his head. He didn't understand why that upset Pops. "You should be happy about that though," he encouraged the old man. "Your father liked what he saw and he…"

"Papa wants me to take over his business."

Truly the world felt empty, leaving the two of them to be the only ones around. Benson's mouth hung open slightly, unsure of what to say.

Pops continued: "He said that he was so impressed with how I handled things with the play, that he expects me to start training to take over his company soon. You see, Papa has been feeling ill lately, and it scares him to think he might… pass… knowing that I don't have the proper training to take over."

"So he just wants you to take over?" Benson asked. "That doesn't seem so bad, Pops. We were all expecting it to happen sooner or later. I'm sure even you were expecting it…"

"I don't want it!" he yelled, bring his legs up to his chest. "I don't want to take over that business."

Benson was at a loss for words. He didn't understand why it was that Pops was so upset over the whole thing, but still tried to figure it out. "I'm sure it's not that hard, Pops. I mean, you've done a really good job with the park so far. Take a look at the place. That park has been pretty profitable since you came along, don't you think?"

Pops didn't say anything back to him.

"And you got us as workers too!" Benson continued. "If you're so scared about the extra work load or something, maybe Skips and I can come with you and help you with the company. I bet business is a lot more fun when it's with friends."

"It's not that," Pops spoke. "It's not how hard the job will be, or how much training it will take, or any nonsense like that."

"Then what is it," Benson asked.

Pops took in a big breath, and let it out slowly. "I'm afraid to become like papa."

"Afraid!" Benson nearly snapped at him. "Pops, you couldn't be any more different from your old man. Sometimes I think you two aren't even related with how different you two even act."

"But… Papa was a lot like me when he was younger, he told me." Pops continued. "He said he was very fun loving, and cared about everyone, and didn't worry about the negative things in life. But I noticed that his stories always stopped being sunny and turned to mush whenever he mentioned the company. I don't want to go to the company and end up all angry and crusty like him. I want to be myself. I like how I am now, Benson."

Benson shook his head and leaned towards Pops. "You won't be like that Pops. None of us would let you be like that."

"Boulderdash! It will happen… and then… I might hurt you and everyone else at the park simply for doing your jobs."

Pops looked as though he could start crying at any second. Benson didn't want to see that. Pops was too much of a caring individual to act like that around the gumball machine.

"Then sell off the company," Benson said.

"I can't," Pops sobbed. "It would break papa's heart, and it would end our legacy. Our business has been in our family for generations. I could never do something so heartless."

"Then you'll have to deal with it then, Pops."

"But I don't want to. I don't want to be like papa! I don't want to be angry at all my workers! I don't want to have to worry about finances constantly. I don't want to do something and get attacked but some crazy creature from underneath our home!"

There it was. The problem made itself perfectly clear.

"Pops," Benson began, "listen to me. Bad News isn't after you. It's after your father. I don't know what your father did to piss that thing off, but it was bad whatever it was. You haven't done anything to piss anybody else off enough to kill you. You will be a great head of the company, and you will do everything right that your father has trouble doing."

Pops sniffed, and stared at Benson with inquiring eyes. "You really think so, Benson?"

"I know so, Pops," the gumball machine added. "You're a little air headed and forgetful sometimes, but I think you can do better than your father if you put your mind to it. And you won't be alone: Skips and I will be there to help you if you need it."

"What about Mordecai and Rigby… or Muscle Man and High Five Ghost?" Pops asked.

"Them too," Benson sighed, not wanting to lump them together. "If they can find a way to be useful around the company, then I think they can help out in some way too."

Benson watched as Pops gave the gumball machine a believable grin. "You will… help, won't you?" Pops asked.

Benson nodded. He thought it was the only thing he needed to say to the lolliman for him to understand. It certainly seemed to work, as Pops had a giggle and sat right back up.

"Thank you, Benson," Pops said to the gumball machine. He stood up from his seat, walked over to Benson, and gave the man a hug. Benson sighed, but happily hugged him back. The old man let go and returned to his seat, a sense of determination renewing him completely. "I think this calls for a celebration! We should order ourselves something sweet for the occasion."

Benson grinned at him and agreed. The sugar was appreciated, especially since he was still having trouble focusing and keeping himself awake. They both ordered some ice cream, and waited patiently for their order to come.

"I think I'm going to go tell papa right after this," Pops said as their sweets arrived. "I think he's going to be very happy about it."

"You're probably right," Benson answered, quickly digging into the soft serve and it's toppings to give him an energy boost. The cola that the waiter had brought seemed to do the trick as well.

Pops gave his usual innocent smile as he watched Benson spoon some of the milky desert into his mouth. "How would you like to take over the park in my place, Benson?"

Benson stopped with the spoon still in his mouth. "Really?" he said flabbergasted.

Pops nodded. "I think it's high time you got your due. I mean, you said you were going to help me with the training and such, but I think this is a journey I have to take on my own. You deserve so much more though, Benson. And I think this is just my way of giving it to you, and even thanking you as well."

"Wow," Benson said with a mouth full of spoon. "Thank you, Pops. Really…"

"And I'm going to try to get you a bigger raise as well! Skips too!" Pops added.

Now the man was just beginning to go overboard. Last thing he wanted was to get special treatment for being friends with the boss.

"That's alright, Pops," Benson assured him. "The normal pay raise should be enough with me."

"Very well," Pops said as he too dug into his ice cream, "but don't think I won't give you something a little extra every now and then."

Benson took the spoon out of his mouth, and watched Pops with joy. He found the elderly man to not only be taking responsible, but willing to help Benson out. With the exception of the exhaustion, the night was turning out surprisingly well. Benson breathed an excited bit of breath, and took another bite of ice cream. He flinched when the brain freeze hit.

"Is something wrong?" Pops asked, noticing Benson's brain freeze.

Benson gritted his teeth, and bared with the pain. "I'm fine, Pops. I promise you, I'm fine." After all, he was. And even if he wasn't, he was used to headaches.

* * *

><p>After they finished, Benson agreed to walk Pops back to his father's corporate building. Maellard never went to bed on time, and usually stayed up past 2am working on business proposals and company acquisitions. The building itself hadn't changed much compared to when Benson was there for his interview years upon year upon years ago. The sheer height of the building was enough to cause a minor feeling of vertigo.<p>

"Well here we are," he said stopping on the first step leading up into the building entrance. He looked at the thirty or so steps, and rolled his eyes at the people who had to constantly go up and down them. It wasn't like he could complain though – the steps of the house were just as much a hassle.

"Thank you for accompanying me here, Benson," Pops said. "I think I will probably go on ahead on my own to deal with my father." He gave Benson another hug and tightened the squeeze around him. "Thank you for the words of encouragement my friend. You are truly a wonderful worker and an amazing compatriot."

Benson laughed and playfully hugged Pops back. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You and Don are just crazy about your sugar aren't you?"

Pops answered with a loud fit of laughter that echoed around the street.

"Awwww," came a voice from out of shadows, "what a touching display."

Benson and Pops looked to where it was coming from, and found the smiling face of Tim glaring at them.

"Hello Timothy!" Pops greeted. "How is your evening so far?"

The human shrugged and took a few steps up toward the building. "It's actually coming up roses so far, and I know it's just gonna get better. Maellard gave me the night off, I got to see an old friend, and I'm still pleasantly surprised by that play you all put on earlier." He stretched out his arms and abdomen and let out a happy moan. "You heading up to see your dad, Pops?"

"Indeed I am," Pops announced to his father's bodyguard.

"Well then, let's get going!" Tim said, waving Pops along. "I'd like to get to bed at some point during the night."

Pops did his usual giggle and thanked Benson for the wonderful evening. "I will do my best to be a better man to you than my papa ever was, Benson."

The gumball machine and laughed and said, "I know you will."

With a quick wave of their hands, the group departed and set out to finish up their days. Benson watched as Pops and Tim made their way out of sight into the building. That was Bensons cue to go home and get to bed.

He was beyond tired at that point, getting a few slight dizzy spells on the way home, no matter how much sugar and caffeine he pumped into his system. Their intended purpose gave him the energy to keep a conversation going with Pops, but the aftereffects were forcing him into a crash that for a time or two, made him forget completely who he even was. Ice cream headaches seemed to have that sort of effect on a person.

His mind wondered back and forth to the events of the past, and eventually, to the future. He grinned at being the boss of the park, and laughed hysterically at Pops taking over Maellard's company. He wasn't sure whether or not it would fall, much like the Candy Kingdom, or rise to the heavens like many corporations for a time. But still, the prospect of having total control over the park was enticing. He was sure that it wasn't much different from what he was doing now, but with more money, and probably more flexible hours. He could even promote Skips to his old job, and give the rest of the staff a small raise for doing such a good job – even Mordecai and Rigby. It surprised him just how excited he was to get a promotion in a job that he absolutely hated most of the time. Though, his excitement could also have been attributed to a lack of sleep.

He fell into the door of his apartment and nearly onto the floor before catching himself. He took in a gasp of relief and slowly made his way toward his bedroom. He forwent his usual end of day rituals and just hopped onto the bed. His body went completely limp as it touched the cool and comfortable sheets on the mattress, and he found himself dozing off into slumber. Today had turned out to be a good day after all. And it was going to end with a nice long and relaxing good night's...

_RING RING RING!_

Benson eyes flew open as rage and anger flushed into his system. This was just getting ridiculous. He jumped out of the bed and seized the phone into his hand from the night stand.

"WHAT!" he screamed.

There was a clearing of the throat, obviously surprise from the gumball machine's outburst.

"Benson!" Maellard yelled over the phone. "What is the meaning of you yelling…? No… it's not important. I need you to get over to my corporate offices right now!"

Are you kidding, Benson thought to himself. He was just there a little whiles ago and now he was being called in. What could possibly have been so important that he needed to go back to that place after everything he had done that day?

"Benson," Maellard continued. His voice was suddenly shaky and quiet. "It's my son and Timothy."

Suddenly, Benson's rage subsided, and a growing terror began to envelope his insides. He didn't want to know what happened. He didn't want to hear the details, because he already knew exactly what had happened.

"It attacked Timothy," the old man over the line said, "and… and then it took my son."

Benson didn't know what to say. His mind was suddenly facing over the past hours events. He had only just seen Pops a few moments ago. It was impossible for him to disappear so quickly. But he knew that Maellard was right.

He took a gulp and spoke into the phone. "I'm on my way."

As he hung the phone back up, he could here the whimpers and sobs of his friend's father, mourning.

**Smile **_– Yoko Kanno_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

This is one of the slower chapters in the story, to be honest. It was kind of hard for me to write, since I couldn't particularly think of a real exciting way to have Benson and Pops congregate with one another like I did with Margaret and Don. So I apologize for the lack of excitement there. Hahahaha! But overall, I think I did an alright job with the development between the two characters. I hope I got you all interested in the next chapter. Chapter 20 and on is where the story gets kicked into high gear, so I hope you all enjoy!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	20. Supergenesis

**Chapter Twenty**

**Supergenesis**

The security footage flashed by again, showing off image after image of carnage and despair that permeated the halls of Maellard's corporate offices. In it, it showed Pops and Tim, laughing about something and approaching the elevator in order to go up and meet with Benson's father. They press the button and idly chit-chat while the compartment slowly comes down toward them. The doors open a few seconds later. Though it's never seen, it was obvious that it was already inside the elevator as made apparent by the shocked and horrified expressions on both Pops and Tim.

Benson watched on in horror as the soundless reel rolled on. The image of Pops being dragged into the elevator, kicking and screaming, haunted his mind and put him on edge no matter how many times he watched it. Tim hesitated at first, but eventually pulled out his pistol and fired a few shots into the elevator, only to have one of the repulsive hands come upon him an instant later. It lifted him up the neck, and with another appendage, took the arm with his gun, and ripped it cleaned off. Benson could hardly stand that sight, nearly vomiting into a trash can the first time he saw it. But Maellard was unmoved by it, only his hands shaking as he watched Bad News rip muscle, tissue, and bone with nothing but it's own strength. The amount of blood that came out of him was frightening. The black and white television didn't do it enough justice, as the darkened life blood of Timothy spilled all over the floor, before he was dropped to the ground like a rock. The creature took his arm as a trophy and brought it back into the elevator, which then closed with Pops still inside.

At first, Benson thought this was the end of the tape. But it kept going. The elevator was moving up. He asked why the security cameras in the elevator weren't working, and was only told that they had only just recently gone out. It was Benson's first clue telling him that this entire thing was obviously planned.

He watched the footage of the elevator ascending its vertical pathway, going higher and higher. And then, just like that, the elevator plummeted down back to its starting point, crushing the compartment completely. When the paramedics and police men were finally able to pry the door open, there was nothing inside.

Both Benson and Maellard watched the footage loop on end for at least an hour, until finally, they just couldn't take the images anymore. It was somewhere between four and five in the morning, and both of them felt like death, not only due thanks to their exhaustion, but also to the utter and absolute feeling of dread and noir that hung over their heads more so then any storm cloud ever could.

They returned to Maellard's office, alone. The right people were taking care of things already, and Maellard needed to get away from the watchful eye of the media as it was. He had no doubt he was going to hear it from Connor Wong tomorrow, and what's worse, it wasn't just about Pops he was going to hear about.

"I don't understand," Benson replied, shaking his head in bewilderment.

"I think you do," Maellard said back to him. "And I think you know what that means for us as well." He reached for a notepad on his desk and threw it toward the gumball machine.

Benson caught it and read the bold pen message on it. He felt his eye twitch in fright. It was a message from the hospital earlier. Don never made it back. For that matter, neither did Ploddevize or the nurse that was accompanying them. Most of the message was written insinuating that Don must have done something to them and ran off. His sanity was still in question by the rest of the hospital staff. But both Benson and Maellard knew Don would never do anything hurtful to those people. They simply disappeared, just as much as Pops did.

"Don and Dr. Ploddevize too?" Benson muttered.

"That poor nurse too," Maellard added. "It's truly a shame."

"This can't be happening," the gumball machine added.

The more he thought about it, the more that evening began to make a creepy sort of sense. It took Don, and it took Pops. And then Benson saw it watching him and Margaret. Was it planning on abducting them as well? If it did, why didn't it just snatch them when it had the chance. Both he and Margaret were alone at the time – it would have been perfect. Benson was sure that it was hunting them down, but he just wasn't sure as to why.

"Mr. Maellard," Benson began, "you're sure that you've never seen anything like Bad News before in your life?"

Maellard sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but it does seem familiar. I feel like I may have met it before, but… I don't think I've actually seen anything as violent and malicious as 'that'."

"But you know you've met it at some point?"

The crusty old man stood from his seat and looked around his office. "It's vague, but I remember a business party from a few decades ago. It was a party for some new and upcoming business that's worth who knows how much today. All I know is that it's more successful and profitable than this company could ever become." He looked down fondly at a framed photo on his desk, and picked it up. "Pops was a child then, and with his mother passing around the time, I always had to keep him nearby. It's vague, but there..."

His lips quivered as he looked at the photo. "I remember bright lights, lots of friends, holiday music, and a general sense of laughter and good merriment about the room. Pops and I were enjoying the festivities, seeing as it was our first winter holiday without his mother. He met and played with all the little children of both my friends and enemies, sang along to all the usual holiday songs, danced and danced and danced, and smiled so much it hurt him the next day. Seeing him so happy made me smile a little too."

"You see, his mother died when he was very young, so the only memories of her he had were of this wonderful, beautiful, and compassionate woman. And really, she was. Pops resembles her so much, it's hard for me to look at him sometimes without being reminded of her last few days in life."

Benson wanted to interrupt him, and try to get him back on track, but Maellard's expression was so nostalgic and peaceful, that it almost seemed like a crime to break it. He had never seen Maellard act like this.

"After she died, I was so afraid that Pops might die as well that I just kept him at my side at all times. I suppose that's why he's a bit of a daddy's boy. I regret being over protective of him, but at the time, I was too heartbroken to care either way. He'd come with me to work, to meetings, to on site projects, everything. So it surprised me to see him be so happy at that party without me."

"But that feeling that I told you about, Benson… it came from someone. I can vaguely remember the face, but only a little. It was a man… a chinchilla anthropamorph, I believe. I only got a few small glimpses at him, but he seemed sickly at the time. I remember he carried an oxygen tank around, and that people were concerned for him because clumps of his fur were coming off. He had a cancer of some sort, though I couldn't tell you which one. But that feeling; that feeling of dread and anger that's soaked into every inch of this building and the park… it's the exact same I know it."

Benson tried to picture it in his mind: A room lit in a golden light fluttered into his head, filled with faceless people, save for a younger Maellard and a child Pops. He did his best to add in the sick chinchilla into the crowd, and found the right image for him. He then removed all the people, leaving only Maellard and the potential Bad News in the room. Maellard mentioned that it was a new and upcoming company that was worth more than Maellard ever could be.

"Mr. Maellard," Benson interrupted, "do you know the name of the company that the chinchilla was part of."

His boss shook his head and put the photo down on his desk. "I'm afraid I don't. I was invited more so as an enemy than an acquaintance, and I honestly believed at the time that the company he was working for would go down in under a year. I can only imagine the look on my face when their stock surpassed mine."

Benson raised in eyebrow in confusion. "So you know the stock surpassed your own, but you don't know the name of the company?"

"It changed its name sometime in the 60s. It was originally called Febrile or something to that nature," Maellard answered. "What does any of that have to with my son's abduction?"

"Because we might be able to figure out why all of this is happening," Benson announced. "Think about it, sir. If we can figure out what that company was originally, we might be able to figure out who that chinchilla guy is and figure out why he has a grudge against you… if that thing even is the chinchilla person."

"That's all conjecture though, Benson," Maellard quipped. "It's a wild goose chase. Like it or not, that person I saw at the party is long dead. I can guarantee you that myself."

Benson stood up and leaned forward against the desk. "It's worth a shot though, no matter how asinine it is."

Maellard thought about it. He didn't care about Bad News at the moment, or his past, or some random chinchilla that he barely remembered as it was. He worried his company and the damage it was going to receive from this incoming controversy. He worried about his bodyguard, now armless and in the hospital in critical condition. But most of all, he worried deathly for his son, and prayed the worst had not happened yet. Maellard couldn't care about anything else beyond that.

"Why the sudden interest?" he asked the gumball machine, with renewed interest. "Where is all of this coming from?"

Benson sighed and tapped his fingers on the desk. His head fell low and part of him wondered that himself. "Earlier this evening," he began, "I saw Bad News spying on Margaret and I, but it didn't attack us. It just watched us and ran away. Then, a few hours later, both Don, the doc and nurse, and Pops go missing, and Tim is thrown in the hospital. I don't know about you, but this all just seems too convenient."

Maellard, of course, agreed with him. There definitely was something in the air that made it all seemed planned out. "It all seems so sudden though," he whispered. "Why did it decide to take them now, and not earlier?"

"That's what I want to know," Benson answered. "That's why I want to look into anything that might have a connection with Bad News. Maybe there's something we're missing altogether. Or maybe I'm just leading us in the wrong direction."

The lolliman let out a tired grunt and sat back down into his chair. "Whatever you do Benson, I suggest you do it fast. Something is telling me that they aren't going to be the last ones that that creature decides to take."

Benson nodded, and began to leave. "Are you going to be alright by yourself, sir?"

"I'll be fine, Benson," he said leaning back into his comfortable desk chair. "Thank you for the concern, but I will be fine."

Benson nodded once more, and exited the room. He kept his head in for a while longer to watch Maellard sit in silence. When he closed the door, and the old men was left into seclusion, the old man's head slumped onto his desk, and his arm draped over his head to protect himself from the outside. From there on, he cried.

Benson heard the sobs from the other side of the door, and felt like having a bit of a breakdown himself, but had other things that needed to be done first. He could cry later, he thought to himself. He walked over to the assistant's desk and picked up the phone. His fingers glided over the numbers as he tried to remember all seven digits. After one failed attempt, he tried again, and successfully got a voice he was hoping to get in touch of.

"Hello?" Skips groggily answered.

Benson smiled at his friend's raspy voice. Even if he sounded tired and still half asleep, the yeti's voice was a calming factor to the gumball machine. "Skips? It's Benson…"

"Do you know what time it is?" Skips asked, with some slight annoyance. "What do you want?"

For some reason, hearing Skips gruff voice, Benson found his body begin to shake and shiver all over. He clutched at the phone with all of his strength, as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground. "Can I come over?" he requested, trying to keep composure in his voice.

"What, right now?" Skips asked. "Why do you want to come over at this time of night? Did something happen?"

Benson wanted to explain everything over the phone, but it just wouldn't feel the same. He felt alone and watched at all times now. He looked around the room for any wandering black sludge that might be watching him like a hawk. It seemed like he was always under scrutiny.

"Can I please come over?" he asked again to the yeti.

The frustration in his voice was a clear sign to Skips that something had happened. Whatever it was, it was affecting Benson pretty bad.

"Benson, what's wrong?"

"Please, let me come over," Benson nearly screamed. He sealed his mouth with his hand and tried breathing slowly into his nose.

There was silence on the other end for a time, until finally there was a grunt, a quick, "come on over." Benson thanked him, and hung up the phone. He shakily made his way toward the stairwell and down the abyss of stairs.

Everything in the world seemed to blend together. His exhaustion and restlessness had finally begun to really attack his senses, making everything around him seem threatening and unsavory. All those around him looked like monsters, ready to attack him at any moment for any sudden movement here or there. Tentacles, fangs, and claws lashed out at him but pulled back the last second, sending bits of fright and anguish through his body.

He ran as fast as he could down the streets, constantly looking over his shoulder for anything that might be out of place or following him. It could have been his imagination, but he was sure that the brooding ooze was chasing him, millions of eyes all on him, knowing his every movement and where about. They examined every inch of his body, inside and out, raping and disfiguring him with their eyes, and filling his brain with still portraits of his gears and glass scattered everywhere. He would die alone in some secluded alley way, and some outline of a chinchilla walked away with a smirk, and thousands of eyes and claws protruding out of its shadowy body.

Benson wanted out. He thought maybe he could run to the border of the city and catch a bus to somewhere far away. His mind thought of Bonnibelle: a woman who actually seemed generally sympathetic of him. He wondered where she was, and if, perhaps, she wouldn't mind taking him in. Such a thought was selfish in nature. But the pink girl dissolved into that of a woman of red feathers. What of her in this situation? Was she too on the list for eventual capture? Benson couldn't bare with that thought. He couldn't bare the thought of all of them being taken away. What if that was the plan? What if he was next?

The creatures… the very thought of them planted terrible visions of the future that seemed to stretch on from the beginning of time to the days in which only Skips would remain, if he survived Bad News. How old was the monster? Was Bad News even around before Skips? Was it a creature that shared favor with Death? Too many questions, and no answers to any of them. Everything was wrong unless proven right. His head hurt so much. It throbbed and beat with his heart, causing his gears to erupt into an utter pain that could be felt not only physically, but mentally.

He wanted it to stop…

He wanted it to stop…

He wanted it to stop…

The world seemed so sideways now. Nothing was standing up like it was supposed to, like he was used to. Why was everything turning so quickly, and so unfamiliar? The world was no longer what he formally knew. Everything had changed so gradually that he didn't realize the difference until it was too late. Now he wished he could go back to the rut he had learned to hate. At least then he knew what to expect and wasn't afraid of what was coming that day. Then, he would know exactly what to do when those instances came up. They may have been a little different everyday, but he could handle it at least.

This was different though. He couldn't handle this slow and steady build: how it crept upon the staff and attacked them so mercilessly and without regret. And it never let up. If it wasn't one thing, it was another, and the problems just kept on stacking. He wanted to scream for it to stop, but knew the world wouldn't listen.

He found himself curled up on the grass in the middle of the park, just about thirty or so feet from Skips' little shack. He couldn't control the fear inside himself, feeling his senses numb and distort. Everything was too different and unknown. It was unrecognizable. It had finally come down on top of him.

The stress and anger that he had been doing his best to hold in because of the park, because of Bad News, because of Maellard, and the play, and the dance contest, and the fundraiser, and Margaret, and Skips, and everything. Why did it have to happen all at once? Why was it all barreling down onto him like a monsoon with nothing for him to hold on to?

His voice convulsed, letting out some whimpered gasp that held no real significance besides letting the world know he was still alive. He prayed that some one heard him at least. The world was nothing to him now – just another blur of bizarre circumstances.

He looked up, and saw a heavenly light shining down on him. It scared him. Was it his time to finally go? An angel reached it's hands down and took him in close, picking him up from the malformed watercolors that swirled around him, and held him close. It spoke in some distant tongue Benson didn't understand, but relaxed him nonetheless. It sounded so warm and romantic, almost like a ballad. He felt his body move with the currents of the wind, and nuzzled himself into the angel's shoulder. It was soft and cozy. He held on tight, and let the angelic being take him away toward blinding salvation.

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He focused on the picture of the angel hanging on the wall: A single angel, surrounded by glorious trumpets and golden light shining all around her. In her arms held a child, behind her a yellow dog looked up in anticipation and joy, while to her side – waiting in the clouds – were various women, all dressed in white, blue, and shades of violet, rejoicing at the angel carrying the child. The calendar image was far from religious, but did its best to convey that tone. It helped him focus off of his begrudging father, and perfectionist mother. This phone call just felt like it wouldn't end.

"I know mom," Benson sighed into receiver. "Yeah, I know… I don't think I'm gonna let my hair grow back this time, mom… the ponytail reminded me too much of Dave… well the long hair and Veronica… look, I just don't want to grow it out, okay?" He tapped his foot impatiently and grunted.

He stared out the back door into the park and watched the snow flurries flutter down, only to melt on the warm grassy lawn. He shivered at the thought of even going outside.

"Huh? Yes mom, I'm disappointed too," he lied to his mother, "but I think you and dad can have good a holiday without me… I know… I know… I know… look, I gotta get going, I still have some chores to do… I know, mom… yeah… love you too… bye." He hung up the phone, and began to massage the bridge of his nose. He was happy he rarely talked to his parents. Too much time with them was a sure fire way to cause insanity.

He didn't like lying to them about coming home, but he couldn't stand them around the holidays. Plus, Maellard was offering him extra pay if he stayed and worked through the season, and Benson wasn't going to turn down additional money. Besides, Skips was going to be there too, so he wasn't going to be completely alone. This was going to be Benson's first winter that he was going to stay at the park. The yeti, on the other hand, had remained there every year from Halloween through New Years. Benson thought it might be a good idea to give Skips some company, as well as make an extra buck or two by helping out.

What Benson didn't count on was the cold. He didn't have the proper clothing for this particular winter, which reports had said was the coldest in about a decade. This put Benson at a disadvantage when he stepped outside, practically halving his strength and making it almost dangerous for him to be out there. The cold stuck to him like a bee to honey, and every moment he was out there his body temperature would keep dropping.

Perhaps that's why he was relegated to working places with heat nearby, such as chores in the house, or the snack bar, or any inside holiday events that the park had been rented out for. It drastically limited what he could do, but he couldn't change who he was. He had the same problems when it was too hot. Metal absorbs temperature. He couldn't change anything about that.

The house was perfectly spick and span. He had cleaned every single nook and cranny of the place. There was no dirt anywhere anymore, and yet he still felt bored out of his mind. There were no other jobs to do where there was heat, which left Skips to do everything. The new hires, Muscle Man and High Five Ghost, didn't start till after New Years. Benson couldn't wait for the extra help.

This was insane. He was too bored just standing there doing nothing. He walked over to the coat closet, pulled out his jacket, and approached the front door. A few moments helping Skips couldn't hurt that bad. He just needed to take extra breaks was all. He opened the door and stepped out into the freezing world.

Already he could tell this was a bad idea, but he gritted through it. He remembered that Skips was working on something near the park fountain so he slowly made his way there. It only took about five minutes for the cold to penetrate and spread through out his body, forcing him to go weak and fragile. But he kept on pressing forward, wanting to help somehow. When he made it to the fountain, he found no signs of the yeti. The fountain looked drained and dry, save for the few snow flakes that were accumulating on the freezing stone. Benson looked in, and wondered where Skips could have gone to.

Benson's hands were beginning to shake wildly, and his body was going numb. He had only been out for about ten minutes, and already he was wishing he had stayed in the house. He needed someplace to get out of the cold and looked around for some indoor area. Off in the distance, there was a little vacant shack that no one really used. Pops mentioned that it was for a park custodian, but they never ended up hiring one up until Benson and Skips. It seemed to be a safe bet. He made his way toward it, determined to stay in there until he got some feeling back so he could make his way back towards the house. Luckily, the door was open, and he hopped on in.

He shivered and moaned in anguish as warm air hit his body. What luck, the place was heated. Pops and Maellard must not have bothered to turn off the utilities for it. He turned around to get a good look at the empty little shack, and was surprised to find his coworker in a corner, staring back at him.

"Hey, Benson," he said, closing what looked like a photo album and sticking it to the side. "Why are you here?"

"I was getting really bored being all cooped up in the house with nothing to do, so I came out here to help you," Benson replied. There was still some cold in his voice, and he could barely feel his mouth moving.

"The way you are?" Skips said in a questioning tone. "I'm surprised you even made it this far." The yeti then giggled a bit and then began to dust the bridge of his nose. "You got some, uh…"

Benson watched him in confusion, but picked up on what he meant. He rubbed the snow off his nose and laughed at himself a bit. "I'm a lot tougher than you think, Skips," he laughed approaching the yeti. "I was able to stay out there a whole ten minutes before my body started giving out on me."

"Well congrats on that," Skips beamed. "I'd say we got ourselves a new park strong man here. I respectfully surrender my title."

Benson put his chin up triumphantly and flexed his stringy arms. They both laughed when they realized how ridiculous he looked trying to impress the yeti.

"You're such a kid," Skips laughed.

"Nothing wrong with that every so often," Benson replied. "I've been more worried about work lately, so playing around isn't so bad every now and then."

"You got that right."

They both huffed in content and sat back against the wall and relaxed.

"Taking a break?" Benson asked.

Skips shrugged and continued to grin at the gumball machine. "I just finished cleaning out the fountain for the winter, so I think I deserved some sort of reward for having to swallow some of that sewage."

Benson chuckled at the thought of Skips having to siphon water from the fountain with a hose – ice cold water at that. God knows the crap he had to clean up from the bottom of it.

"Did you find anything interesting?" Benson wondered.

"Just three dollars in coin," Skips answered.

The machine nodded and went along with it. He unzipped his coat and removed it from his body. He wanted the heat to hit him completely and speed the process along a bit. "I can't believe this place has utilities. It's kind of nice."

Skips agreed. "I was thinking about moving in here actually."

Benson turned to him in surprise and leaned forward. "Really?"

"Yeah… that way you can have the bed all you want without us having to alternate every day." Skips thought it might be a nice gesture to let his coworker have a constant place of relaxation, instead of having it one night and then getting the slightly lumpy couch the next. He expected gratitude, but was given laughter instead. "What's so funny?" he asked the machine.

"It's just that I finally get the bed to myself," Benson started, "and I'm moving out too."

"You too?"

Benson nodded enthusiastically to him and continued: "I got a lease down on an apartment across town. It's kind of a weird place, but the utilities are paid for, and the rent isn't too bad. Besides, the new hires will probably need a place to stay until they can get on their feet. I think it would be kind of rude if we hog the house to ourselves."

"I don't think that'll work though, Benson," Skips commented.

"And why do you say that?"

"Because I hear the new hires are actually bringing their own home into the park. Maellard and Pops are giving them a piece of the park somewhere in the corner so their can have a place to put their trailer."

"Well that's crazy," Benson added. "So I guess… Pops is gonna be by himself for a while, huh."

"I guess so."

The mood in the room seemed a little heavy all of a sudden. Benson wasn't sure why that was, but attributed it to the idea of them not living in the same home anymore.

"It's gonna be weird not living together anymore," he said, his mind stuck in memory.

"Maybe just a little," Skips said as he wrapped his arm around Benson's neck. The gumball machine looked at it questionably, and then to Skips with the same expression. "What?" Skips blurted. "You looked cold."

"I'm always cold, remember?"

"Colder than… usual… I guess." Skips sighed and let his fingers caress Benson's shoulder lazily.

The younger of the two noticed immediately. "What are you doing?"

His answer was to pull Benson in closer to him, enveloping the machine in white fur and strong embrace. It shocked Benson at first, being drug in with such strength. He trusted Skips for all the time they had known each other, but this seemed strange even for the yeti.

"Let me have this," Skips muttered to the gumball machine. He leaned down slightly and nuzzled his head against the glassy dome. "I'm feeling… really… lonely, right now, and I just don't want to feel… that way… right now."

Eventually, the yeti's other arm came around and brought Benson in closer to the embrace. The yeti kept one arm around Benson's waste, but let the other cradle his head into his chest. Benson felt like he should say something, anything, but could feel the desperation coming from his coworker. He didn't hug back at first, and just let the beast tighten his grip. But after a minute, he gave in and wrapped his freezing arms around the yeti the best he could. In the corner of his eye, Benson could see the photo album. A piece of newspaper clipping hung out lazily, describing the obituary of someone who died of illness. Perhaps it was a relative of Skips?

He could feel Skips fingers curl uncomfortable against his head, and his other arm grazing along the bottom of his chassis. Benson was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure where this was all coming from, and frankly, the less said about it the better.

"I need it," Skips whispered, his face dangerously close to Benson's. "I need it… but…" His grip loosened on his coworker, and he eventually backed away. His face was sad and wanting, but eventually returned to his usual monotone and expressionless façade. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get overly emotional on you."

"Um, it's okay," Benson rasped out. He was still feeling uncomfortable. "Are you going to be okay…?"

Skips began to nod at first, but stopped and looked toward the photo album. "No," he said. "No, I'm not going to be alright. But thanks for asking."

The two sat there, quiet, unfeeling, and still. Neither could understand what the other must have been feeling, and that disquieting mood just added to the frustration.

Right then, Skips took the photo album in his hand and hurled it across the room in a fit of rage. He gritted his teeth and stood up from his place, turning around and punching a hole in the wall. He skipped over to another wall and kicked it as hard as he could, also leaving a sizeable hole. He took in some deep breaths and let out as loud of a scream as he possible could, flushing as much negativity out of his system as his body and soul would possibly allow him. The room echoed and shook with his distraught feelings as he whirled around the room, punching, kicking, and attacking anything in sight.

Benson backed away as far as he could to a corner, and prayed the yeti stayed away from him. He had never really been terrified of Skips before, but this outburst was out of control. He didn't he know why he was going as crazy as he was.

"THEY DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" Skips screamed at the empty room. He snatched up the photo album again and chucked it right out the window, shattering glass and panes. "WHY DID THEY HAVE TO BE PUNISHED!"

He took in a few more shuttered breaths, and knelt onto the floor. His eyes looked into the distance that wasn't there, though he was actually looking back at the past. He stared over to the frightened gumball machine in the corner and tried to think of something to make him feel better. "I didn't… I don't want… You won't…" The words he wanted to say weren't coming out. He simply stared at Benson, asking for something the gumball machine didn't understand. Finally, the yeti gave up and collapsed on himself.

"I want to be left alone," he said to Benson. "I'll be back at the house in a little while, but I wanna be left alone for a bit."

Benson didn't argue. He thought it strange considering only a few moments ago Skips was saying how lonely he was, but knew he shouldn't meddle. He was up and out the door in a matter of seconds, leaving Skips to battle his own mind.

Before he went back to the house though, he snuck around to the back of the shed near the now broken window. He looked down at the photo album, and quietly knelt down. He hoped Skips didn't hear him as he took a quick peek inside. Pictures of people as well as news articles, letters, and bits of mementos lined the pages of the book. It wasn't a photo album, but a scrapbook.

He didn't know these people, but Skips certainly did. But there was something that caught his eye though. One picture in particular with the date for 1902 scribbled on it. At first, Benson thought it might have been an old relative of Skips. But there was no doubt in his mind that the person in the photo was Skips. It was only then that Benson became aware of Skips immortality.

The book was a memorial for the dead.

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Warm sunlight fluttered in through the window above where he lay. He opened his eyes to the quiet morning rays and shuffled in the comfortably large bed. But something was wrong. This wasn't his bed. These weren't his sheets or his pillow. This wasn't even his room. He sat up and quickly looked around his surroundings, his heart pounding away like a jackhammer. It settled back slowly when he realized he was just at Skips' shack.

He fell back unto the bed and looked up at the ceiling. The last thing he remembered was something picking him up and carrying him away. In his sleep deprived state, he imagined the creature as an angel come to give him peace from his tired life at long last. No doubt it was probably just Skips, finding him on the ground in front of the shack and bringing him inside. Dreamless sleep must have over taken him some time after that, with the rest of the previous night a seemingly tired blur.

Benson turned onto his side and found the titular resident of the shack deep in slumber himself. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the rim of the bed, quietly snoozing away. Benson wondered what time it was and looked for a clock somewhere in the room. Nothing was hanging on the wall or nearby so that was out of the question. By the looks of things outside, it must have been at least noon, if not later.

A knock came from the front door, rapping itself three times. "How convenient," Benson chuckled. He threw the sheets off and jumped out of the bed, feeling well adjusted and rested.

Skips muttered something and reached up his paws to wipe the sleep away. Benson noticed and wished him, "good morning." The yeti waved his greeting away and continued to grumble unhappily.

Benson opened the door and greeted the stranger outside.

"What are you doing here?" Benson asked with a grin.

Margaret stepped inside with her usual graceful smile and winked at the gumball machine. "Skips called me late last night. He said something big happened, and thought you could really use a friend right now. So, I got Eileen to cover my shift and took today off." She observed the way he stood and the exhaustion still slowly phasing out of his eyes. "Did I wake you guys up?"

"Not me, just Skips," Benson mentioned to her.

She apologized to the yeti, who continued to wave away any discussion projected in his direction. He eventually stood up, only to hop onto the side of the bed.

"So what's going on?" Margaret asked. "He said you were looking really bad when he found you: shivering, and jumpy, and crazy, and all of that."

Benson scratched an itch on his shoulder and let out a waking yawn. "Guess…"

Margaret's smile disappeared as soon as he said that. There was only one thing currently that could have gotten Benson in such desire straights. "Bad News?"

"Literally on every accord," he sighed. "Pops and Don have been kidnapped by that thing."

"You're serious?" Margaret gasped.

The man nodded and stretched out his arms and legs. "Tim lost an arm too. Took the doc and his nurse too."

Her wing fell over her beak. She had no idea that Bad News would take things that far. "Is Tim okay? Is he in the hospital right now?"

Benson nodded. "They rushed him there. He'll be alright for now."

"Not from what I heard," Skips finally spoke.

Both Benson and Margaret looked over to him with a sudden look of worry.

"What are you talking about, Skips?" Benson asked him.

The yeti moaned as he rose from the bed and stretched out his arms, protruding his abs and puffing out his chest. "When I found you, I gave Maellard a call and he caught me up with everything that happened. I guess between the time you left and got here, something happened to Tim in the hospital."

Benson felt something troubling forming in his throat and tried to swallow it.

"According to the doctor's," Skips went on, "the doors and windows slammed shut and something attacked the room. When they finally got in there, the place had been ransacked – black ooze and blood everywhere. They found a couple of fingers in the mix as well." He shook his head and looked toward the park through the window. "Bad News is taking out everyone connected with Maellard. And I've been thinking… if he's going after the ones closest to him… then that would probably mean…"

"Skips, stop!" Margaret yelled. "We don't know what it's doing yet. It just may be attacking random people it's met." As she thought about it, she realized she too could be a target under that reasoning.

"Anyone of us could be next," Benson said. He looked over to Skips, who didn't look too sure about that. He shook it off and continued: "Anyways, I think I might have a lead on someone who might know about Bad News. I'm gonna need your help on this, Skips."

"Why me?"

"Because you know someone who might be able to tell us who this chinchilla person Maellard told me about was," he said with some commitment. "And knowing who you know… you aren't going to like getting in touch with them." He followed it up feigning a smile.

Skips wasn't sure who he was talking about at first, but when the pieces started coming together he groaned with annoyance. "You'll need to give me some time to call him."

Benson thanked him, right on time for the door to knock again.

"I'll get it," Margaret said, still recovering from her own thoughts. She opened the door, and frowned angrily at the person in front of her.

"Hey Margaret," Mordecai said with a wave. He was having trouble looking at her, choosing to look down or to the side in shame. "I saw you come in here, and I just… wanted to talk to you about last night."

She held firm her grip on the door, ready to slam it into his beak, but didn't want to end up looking like the lesser woman. She looked to Benson sympathetically.

"Go on," he said to her. "Skips and I can take care of things here."

"But I really want to help you guys!" she argued.

"Margaret," Benson continued, "Skips and I can take care of things for now. You got the day off anyways, you should spend it how you want."

"And I want to spend it helping you!"

"Please, Margaret!" Mordecai pleaded. "I wanna make it up to you. I acted like a real hole the other night, and I really just want to try and make amends for it. I want to talk about things… um… if it's okay with…?"

"Take the day off, slacker," Benson grunted. He thought about it and stopped for a second. "Tell Rigby to take the day off too, but to call Maellard as soon as possible. It's about Don."

"What about Don?" Mordecai said, suddenly worried, "What happened?"

"I'll explain outside," Margaret sighed.

"So you're coming with me, then?" the blue jay asked.

"I guess I am," she responded with no excitement in her voice. "I want to talk about things too. So c'mon, let's go." She pushed the boy out the door and looked back to Benson one more time. "Both of you be careful, okay?"

"We'll be fine," Benson reassured her.

"I trust you," she said before leaving with the blue jay.

The door clicked shut, leaving a concerned gumball machine, and a yeti who was growing more fearful by the second. Benson turned around to look at him. For some reason, he didn't like the look on Skips face.

**Supergenesis **_– The Mountain Goats_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

So this is the chapter where it all starts getting really crazy and everywhere. The length of this chapter is nothing compared to next one as well as some of the later ones. So hold on tight and just enjoy the show because it goes nuts from here on in, especially in the next chapter. So I hope you all enjoy everything as usual!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	21. REM Sleep

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**REM Sleep**

Skips walked into the park house, his fur wet from the sweat of a hard day's work and exhaustion creeping over his muscles. He closed the door behind him and walked up the steps to check on Benson. Sure enough, there was the gumball machine, his eyes glued to a computer monitor with several windows open, all pointing to corporate websites and their lists of employees. It was exactly where Skips had left him a few hours earlier.

"Find anything yet?" he asked, approaching his friend.

Benson answered him in the form of irritable whine. "Nothing; no connections with any other corporations, nothing showing up on any of the employee lists, not even a stupid photo of the chinchilla, or any chinchilla even. I'm beginning to think that Maellard is either going senile, or this person just never existed in the first place." He continued to click through several windows and pursing his lips in failure as he came up empty handed.

"Maybe Maellard was just wrong on this one," Skips said. "Maybe he just thought there might be a connection. It was kind of sudden for him to think of this random guy up so quickly. He's probably just looking for some person to put the blame on losing Pops."

"We haven't lost Pops just yet," Benson assured the yeti, "at least I don't think so. I think both Pops and Don, as well as Tim are still alive. Though, I don't know where to be honest."

"I don't know, Benson," Skips continued. "They may already be too far gone to be saved."

The machine pulled himself out from the desk, and gave Skips a terrible death glare. He didn't want to hear anything negative on the subject of the kidnappings.

"Sorry," the yeti sighed. "I just think…"

"I need your help with something, Skips," Benson interrupted.

The yeti flinched at the cut off. He wanted to finish, but the look on Benson's face told him otherwise. "What do you need?"

"Do you think you could call Death for me?" Benson asked.

Skips face twisted in disgust and his fists clenched up. "Why would you want to talk to that idiot? What good could possibly come from him?"

Benson stood from his seat and sighed. "I can't do anything unless I have a name or face to work with, right? Well, if this chinchilla person died, he'd be sure to have his soul lying around somewhere, and if he's still alive, he obviously wouldn't have it. Either way, he should know who we're talking about."

Skips grumbled something under his breath, but continued to listen to his coworker.

"Besides, if Death doesn't have his soul, wouldn't that give him a reason to hunt him down and confirm out suspicions?"

He had a point there. Even Skips agreed with it. Death hated anything that lived past its live expectancy. Skips was of course included in all of this. It seemed like a sound enough plan.

"Alright then," Skips said, turning around and closing the door to the room. He sighed, and pressed his hands against the door and mumbled something in a strange language. A second later, something knocked on the door.

He opened up the door, and there, standing in the hallway, was a tall, literally bony man in a leather jacket, jeans, boots, and a mullet down to his shoulders. "Well, well, well, would you lookie here," he said in a decidedly thick accent that neither could tell if it was cockney or Australian. "I've been called not only by an immortal yeti, but also a potentially immortal machine. What do I owe the miserable pleasure to?"

Skips' upper lip swelled in hate as he stared down the demon with all of his might. "It's not what I want Death," he said to him, "but what Benson wants." He pointed to Benson by the computer and stepped away from the door frame.

Death greeted the gumball machine before stepping in, giving Benson a better look at the behemoth of an arm the personification of death wielded. It was almost comical considering the other arm seemed scrawny by comparison. "Alright then, gumball," he said with disdain, "what do you want?"

There was a subtle fear that seemed to glow around Death that spread to the other two residents of the room. Skips looked as though he wanted to attack the man, while Benson simply stood his ground, his body slightly shaking from being in this man's presence. He had been around Death before, but no matter how used to his image he got, he could never get used to what the man did for a living.

"Well come on then," Death snapped, "come out with it."

Benson fought through the fear, and tried to get some answers: "We've been having some issues with a monster lately, and we think it may have something to do with some chinchilla or someone who used to be part of some big company a few decades ago. We were wondering if you might know who it is."

The skeleton folded his arms, and smiled. "I've reaped the souls of millions of chinchillas," Death laughed. "What makes you think I can pinpoint this exact one?"

"It was an anthropomorph."

"Well now," Death continued, "that does limit my selection to a couple of hundreds of thousands. Let me take a look. You said a few decades ago, yes? How many decades are we talking?"

"I don't know," Benson said, "maybe six or seven?"

"Let me take a look then," he replied. The skeleton reached behind himself, and pulled out his scythe, looking deep into the reflection of the blade. It glowed green as millions of souls whizzed by in the reflection. Strange as it was, he was able to check each one individual in a fraction of a millisecond, categorized by date, sex, species, genus, anyway he wanted it to be. He smiled with content and pushed the blade toward Benson. "I think this may be who you are looking for."

Benson looked into the reflection of the blade, and saw the image of a healthy looking chinchilla standing up. He was about Benson's height, wearing a business style suit, and was surrounded by yes men. Skips skipped on over to look and watched the image with unflinching resolve.

"Tardem Hasselback is the name you're looking for," Death announced. "Put his name in a search engine and I'm sure you'll find something." He motioned to the direction of the computer.

Benson looked at him, and then to the screen. He sat back into his seat and pulled up a new window, typing in the name he had been told.

"Why the sudden generosity?" Skips asked in an unsure tone.

"I have my reasons," Death said with a half grin. "I almost consider you like a friend, Skips. I mean, even if you DO have an immortal soul that buggers the hell out me, I still consider you an important part of my life." His smiled formed into a full one as he slid the bottom of his thumb along the hilt of the blade. "Besides, with all the loved ones I've reaped from your life, I suppose I owe you something."

Skips eye twitched. He was about to punch Death as hard as he could if he hadn't been interrupted by Benson.

"Nothing," the automaton groaned. "I can't find his name anywhere."

Death let out an impressed whistle and chuckled. "He certainly knew how to cover his tracks, didn't he?"

Benson stared right back up at Death. "Wait, cover his tracks? Do you know something about thing?"

"I'm the Grim Reaper, mate," Death announced with snide, "I know everything about every soul on this sad and miserable little planet. Hell, I know it in all universes too, not just this one. So yes, Benson, I know everything about this bloke right here. He happens to be an old friend actually."

"Tell me everything you know!" Benson screamed. "Our friends are in danger, and this guy is the only thing to connect us to Bad News."

"Bad News? That's what you're calling him?" Death laughed. "I think that's the best one since they called him the Wondering Darkness. Such awful names you mortals give him."

"You seem to know a lot about him," Benson yelled as he stepped up, "what else do you know?"

Death continued to laugh at the gumball machine and his lack of knowledge. "Well, let me just tell you this: he has no soul… just like me. He's been around since the beginning, mate. And just like me he's gone through a couple of different forms and styles. Sadly for him, he can never seem to keep the same form for too long. Probably because of what he is…"

"What was he doing under the basement of this house!" Benson demanded angrily. He grabbed at Death's leather jacket and pulled him close with hostility. "What do you know!"

Death frowned at his threat and put one small finger on the gumball machine's chest. Benson was shot right across the room, slamming into the table and computer. Pieces of technology broke to fragments and fell to the floor, leaving Benson in pain on the table.

Skips dashed to his side and picked him up, checking his body for any damage. He was dazed but unharmed. The yeti's expression turned to shear malice as he glared angrily at his "old friend". He clutched Benson's shaken body close to him, keeping him safe from the creature that smiled so evilly in front of them.

The skeleton's smirk spread as he placed his scythe behind himself again. He approached Benson and Skips, the metal on the heels of his boots clanking on the wooden floor. "I'd stay out of Pestilence's affairs if I were you, gumball," he said as though it were common sense. "Take it from someone who's seen what kind of man he is. Everyone who gets involved with him do not live long and fruitful lives, nor do they have happy endings. Well… maybe except one." He let out a knowing laugh and stepped away from the two. "You blokes take care now. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said to them, going under the archway of the door. It slammed shut on its own and opened back up a second later with no one out in the hall.

"Fucking punk," Skips whispered to himself. He looked back down at Benson and heaved a heavy sigh of regret. "You gonna be okay?"

Benson shifted a bit in the yeti's arms, and tried to recoup himself. He was beaten, but not really hurting. It seemed as though it wasn't time for him to go just yet. Death was an enigma to the machine. Still, he worried about what he said.

"Pestilence?" he muttered. "His real name is Pestilence...?"

He pushed himself out of Skips' arms and situated himself back on the nice wood floor. Skips tried to keep him in, on the off chance he really was hurt, but was denied the good will. Instead, Benson sighed and rubbed his head, trying to process the information.

Anything that had to do with Tardem Hassleback had been erased from existence according to Death. This would probably include family members, as well as any information involving the corporation he had previously worked for. The name Maellard suggested, Febrile, turned up nothing but random definitions and descriptions. At first, Benson thought that maybe it was just something that Maellard only thought was true, but now, he wasn't so sure. Febrile meant fevered, like a sickness. Pestilence was essentially sickness incarnate. It made sense the more he thought about it, especially when coupled with Don's delirium.

But at the same time, it didn't make any sense at all. Death only told them his real name, and that the chinchilla person was in fact connected. Even more disheartening was that he said that there were those who had searched out Pestilence before, and didn't live to tell of it… except one. But he was getting ahead of himself. He still didn't have any extra information pointing them in the right direction. Pops, Don, and Tim were still missing, and the whereabouts of Bad News, now Pestilence, were still just as much of a mystery. He wanted this solved as soon as possible, but there were too many road blocks it seemed like. There was something else missing in all of this, but he just wasn't sure what.

"Benson," Skips said, interrupting the machine's train of thought. "I'd take what he said with a grain of salt. Death has been known to stretch the truth, especially if it's anything that involves me."

"He knows something, Skips," Benson retorted. "He knows exactly what's going on. It's like we have all the pieces, but no way of putting them together." The gumball machine folded his arms and grunted. He wasn't getting anywhere.

"Maybe you should take a break," Skips suggested. "You've been in here all day."

Benson nodded. Skips was right. He had been sitting in front of that computer screen all day without a break, and he still hadn't gotten anywhere, save for the creatures real name and a warning from Death that he wasn't sure if he should take seriously or not. True, he wanted to find them posthaste, but without any extra information, he was still running blind. He needed to take a breather and rethink his course of action.

He took a deep breath. "You're right Skips. You're right as always. We still need to get this thing figured out as soon as possible. You're gonna help right?"

Skips looked away for a moment, his eyes focusing on something else. But in time, they looked back to him and smiled. "I'll try to think of something in the mean time to help us figure this out."

Benson didn't like the sound of that. He didn't want Skips to take on the burden all by himself. It seemed kind of selfish, but knowing the yeti, it was just business as usual. Skips always was the one to try and fix everything that happened in the park.

"We can figure this out together, okay?" Benson replied. "I'm gonna head into town and get us something from the Coffee Shop. I'll see you when I get back."

Skips nodded and watched the gumball machine exit the house. He looked out the window, making sure Benson was out of sight before he closed the door to the computer room, mumbled something against the door, opened it up again, and spit in the face of Death.

* * *

><p>Benson walked into the Coffee Shop like he usually had for the past few weeks, hoping the break in investigating would settle his worry. It didn't. In fact, it just made him feel worse. He shouldn't be there getting whatever expensive treat he felt like. He should be back at the house trying to figure out what to do about Pestilence. His head still swirled with questions and answers that were just barely out of reach.<p>

His head ached. It had been like that since the stupid creature burst forth from the basement. What in the hell was it doing down there? How did it get down there in the first place? Why was it so gung-ho after Maellard? What was the point in kidnapping all these people? Did it have a motive even? Far too many things juggled around in his head, and he couldn ft answer a single one of them. He felt helpless.

A loud smack came from the back of the shop. Benson looked over with some mild interest to find Margaret's hand being pulled away after slapping Mordecai across the beak. The gumball machine smiled at the show of force, and was happy to see the blue jay get his come ups.

"That is the sixth time she's slapped him since they got here this morning," Veronica commented, taking a sip of coffee. She sat in a chair with one of the tables, looking at the two in distance. "I don't know what they are talking about, but it must be something important if that woman just keeps beating the hell out of that poor bird."

Benson groaned as he listened to his ex gossip. He suddenly didn't want to be there, and felt that the coffee at the gas station across the street suddenly seemed more appetizing. "Hi Veronica," he greeted with no emotion.

"Good late afternoon Benson," she sighed, shaking her little cup around to mix any stray flavor at the bottom of her cup. "You a customer today, or are you just here to collect your girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" he said questionably. He then realized what she meant, and smiled sincerely, remembering the date the two of them shared. "Margaret's not my girlfriend, Veronica. She's just a close friend."

"You slept with her yet?" she asked uncaring.

"No," Benson replied steadfast, "and I probably won't either, so come off it. What's got you in such a snippy mood?"

"I'm not in a snippy mood, chiclet," she answered. "I'm just bored today. We've only had like four customers all day, and I did all the dishes, and cleaned, and everything else. So now I'm just sitting here, bored out of my mind, drinking this crap they call coffee, and watching these two go nuts on one another. Just look around you, Benson. Not a single interesting thing today with the exception of them."

Benson did look around, and most of what she said was true. The place was completely empty save for the four of them, and the place did seem surprisingly clean. Veronica apparently knew how to do a good job when it came to the place. Benson guessed that maybe she did have some work ethic in her after all.

"I'm more or less just waiting for Michelle to get here and relieve me of my duty," she continued with a frown. "Then I got the rest of the day to go and do whatever. I'm very excited about that."

Benson shrugged, not caring in the least bit. "Well, I'm here as a customer, so I'm afraid I have to pull you away from your lazy sitting and am going to ask you for two cups of coffee to go. And make it quick – I gotta get back and work some more on this project."

"Now who's snippy?" Veronica said getting up. She popped the joints in her neck and let out a sigh. However, instead of going towards the back counter to take Benson's order, she actually went toward Mordecai and Margaret.

Benson watched as she approached them, caught both of their attention, and sat down in the booth right next to Margaret. The two birds looked utterly confused at what she was doing. A moment later, she motioned for Benson to come over. He moaned at his luck and slowly walked over to the group. He had every intent to force the woman out of the privacy of the two birds, but knew better than that. She would only cause a scene and stay there til she got her way.

"Well go on, sit then!" she yelled at Benson.

He looked at Mordecai who shared the same befuddled expression as he did, and knew that Veronica wouldn't let them be no matter how hard they asked. So he scooted over a bit, and allowed Benson to join them.

"So what's going on with you two?" Veronica blurted.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Margaret quickly countered. "I don't even know why you are over here. Shouldn't you be behind the counter taking orders?"

"From who?" she asked, waving her hand around the Coffee Shop. "The only customer we have here is Benson, and he can just sit his happy little metal butt down and wait to get his to go order."

"You shouldn't be saying things like that about our customers, Veronica," Margaret snapped.

The female machine laughed and stared venomously at the red robin. "And you shouldn't be running around in high heels, dresses, or wearing make up. But here you are, a damn fine example of feminine beauty!"

Benson pulled his leg back and kicked the woman across from him as hard as he could. She squeaked in pain, and rubbed her leg from the assault. He then looked over to Mordecai, who had an equally angry expression that was directly squarely at Veronica. Margaret just looked down in embarrassment.

"Well it's the truth," Veronica snipped. "Let's face it; none of us at this table can technically be qualified as male or female. I mean, Benson and I are pretty much genderless, and as for you two – I'm not sure what's actually up with you two. Are you the kind of birds with actual equipment, or are you the ones with the magical wonder hole?"

She was kicked again for her rudeness, only this time, Mordecai added a kick of his own right at her. It barely hit her other leg, but it got the point across.

"I don't see why you all are being so rude," she stated. "I'm just stating obvious facts! And I said that Margaret here was probably the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I'm a little jealous of her actually."

She was kicked once again.

"What was that for?" she screamed.

"For acting like B," Mordecai replied.

Veronica gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes at him. "Fair enough I suppose." Her gaze looked over to the depressed Margaret. "I apologize Margaret. I meant every word of you being beautiful, and me being jealous. I hope that at least does something for you."

Margaret didn't even look at Veronica. Instead, her glance was on Mordecai. "C'mon, Mordecai," she said with annoyance. "Let's go."

Mordecai didn't even need to answer her. He slipped under the table and crawled out from underneath, not even asking Benson to move. Margaret pushed her way through Veronica, trying to make it as uncomfortable for the woman as she possibly could. When she was successfully out, she adjusted her clothes and stepped away.

"Margaret!" Veronica called out. "Come here just for one second."

The red robin stopped, shook angrily and turned back to her. "What is it, another snide comment?"

"Not really," the gumball woman said pulling something out of her apron. She then took Margaret's wing and slapped the item into the palm of it. "You two go do something nice and romantic, on me."

Margaret cocked her eyebrow at the woman, but nearly fainted when she saw what Veronica handed her. "There's at least $500 in here!" she exclaimed. Her expression turned suspicious as she looked toward the back counter, thinking of the register. "Where did you get this money?"

"Relax girl," the woman assured her, "we haven't even pulled in twenty bucks today. That's from my own personal account. You two go and have yourself a nice dinner and go on a shopping spree or something."

Margaret just looked at the money and then back to Veronica with a shocked expression. Even Benson and Mordecai looked at her with amazement. The only thing the red robin could do was thank her, and slowly step away, pondering where the money could have come from. Her sight kept going back to Veronica until the two birds were completely out of the store.

"You see Benson?" the woman began. "I can still be a kind and caring technically nonliving being, unlike what you and everyone else around me think."

"Where did you get that money?" Benson asked. "I wouldn't think a waitress at a café would be able to make that kind of cash."

"Well if you have to know," Veronica went on, "this Coffee Shop thing is only a small time gig. I'm really only doing it out of boredom. I have enough money to buy this place out a few times over if I wanted to."

"But where did you get that kind of money?"

Veronica arched her head and giggled. "Well I don't think that's really any business of yours now is it Benson?"

"Well fine then," Benson said standing up from the booth, "you can just go wave your cash all over the place if you want to. I'm going across the street and get some coffee where I can retain some of my dignity." He stomped his feet on the ground and began to walk away.

"What happened to you?" Veronica asked with an almost comical expression. "What happened to the Benson who was all about peace and love, and could never be pried away from his instruments, and who danced and joked around, and wrote ballads and said he never needed money to get by."

"He grew up," Benson yelled approaching the stairs.

"Grew up?" she laughed. "If you grew up you wouldn't be leaving in such a fit, and yet there you are, running away from your problems like you always do."

He stopped in his tracks and let out an extremely loud yell that filled the empty shop with his frustration. He nearly ran back to her, slamming his hands onto the table and getting right up in her face. "You're a bitch! You're talking to me about running away? What about you abandoning me right there in that train station without so much as a real reason as to why you left? You were running away from me, and you know it!"

Her grin shifted to a frown as she folded her hands on the table. "If that's what you want to believe, then so be it. You can leave then if it'll make you feel better to cut me down in size. That's what you've been wanting to do all this time right?" She watched the color on his face exemplify and grow brighter by the passing seconds. "I wasn't running away from you… you were just a circumstance that happened to be what I was trying to get away from. I was trying to get away from the life we shared."

Benson's color shot to purple as he heard that. "It's still running away!" he screamed.

"No," she replied, "it's trying to find my happiness somewhere else. If you had actually taken the time to pull yourself away from your damn ideals you would have seen that. You want the truth, then sit down."

Benson slammed his hands against the table again, and let out another yell. He needed to get back to Skips, but this just seemed to good to be true. He wanted to hear what this bitch had to say about their relationship. He tried to calm himself, but the deep flush of purple persisted even as he sat down and listened.

"Now then, " she continued. "I didn't leave you, per say. I left the life I had behind. You just happened to be part of it."

"I thought you were happy with what we had," Benson said through his teeth.

"For a time I was. You offered what I thought I wanted. You gave me love, sex, beautiful harmony, a place to live, and everything that I thought was going to make my soul complete. But I wanted more than that: I wanted a home where I could start a family. I wanted to wake up everyday and not have to worry about whether I was going to eat or not. I wanted to have a life where I didn't have any worries."

"We didn't have any worries!"

"No Benson," she snapped, "you didn't have any worries. You were completely content with living in your 'ignorance is bliss' mentality, and going about every day with a smile and completely ignoring everything else in life. You smothered the hell out of me with love, sex, and songs, but didn't offer any real support. All you did was sit and tell me that everything was going to be alright. You were ignorant of your surroundings, and this is the reward you get for it. You figured everything out too late in life, and now you're stuck as a park manager – a position I'm sure you just absolutely loathe with all your heart." She shook her head and continued. "So when the closest opportunity came along for something better, I took it."

"By just leaving everything behind?" Benson asked angrily.

"Quit saying that!" she screamed. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt to leave you like that? Do you have any idea how much I cried and screamed about it? It wasn't an easy decision to make Benson. I loved you, hell, I probably still harbor some attraction to you. But I was weak, and you were keeping me that way. I needed a way out. I wanted to find my own happiness and share it with someone that I could love for the rest of my life. I wanted you to have the same thing. But as long as we were together, it was never going to happen."

The color on Benson's slowly face began to fade as he continued to listen.

Veronica sighed and looked at the man fondly. "And then he came along, and everything just opened up. He promised me the world, and he gladly delivered it to me. I thought at first he was just some smooth talking wanting to get me into bed as his trophy wife. I was wrong. He actually cared about me. He would drop everything if I needed something. He wasn't overly smothering, and he even taught me a few things as well. Sure there are a few things I don't approve of that he does... but I was happy. For the first time in a long time, I was happy."

"So Mr. Business Man came and whisked you off your feet," Benson coughed. "Good for you."

"Don't give me that sass, Benson," the woman went on. "I found someone I can be happy with and know it. What about you? Have you found that somebody yet… or do you think you're always going to be alone and worthless?"

Benson chuckled at what she said and leaned back in the booth. "I live alone, I work at a park, and I've been getting attacked repeatedly by a monster from under the park house's basement. You already know the answer to that question."

"You're right," she said, "I do know the answer to that question. It's a shame that don't, unfortunately."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me right, Benson," she continued. "You may think you're alone and worthless, and all that other shit that's in your head, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. You have a good life – you just don't want to admit it."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Benson asked unbelievingly.

"You have all these happy little people around you who care about you beyond anything else, and yet you still think your sad little existence is a lonely and pathetic one. The only one who's making that existence sad and pathetic is you, Benson. Not anyone else."

Benson's hands folded into fists. He didn't want to hear this snide woman go any further.

"Look at these people," she continued. "You have Margaret, who hangs on your every word and is constantly talking about you whenever you're not around, simply because you accept her and actually cared for her in a way that made her realize that she can find love out there. I couldn't possibly begin to understand how happy that would make someone in her situation. You gave that woman a bright spot in her life, and gave her the hope she needed to continue being who she knows she is. She may have been beating up on that blue jay, but god help me if she didn't still have a glint of romance in her eye. I think even the blue jay had it too."

"And then there was that Pops guy too. I only saw him a few times, but it seemed like he cared about your opinion above anyone else, and that's something that you should really take to heart, Benson. When was the last time someone favored your opinion over anybody else? For that matter, when was the last time you actually thanked them for trusting your judgment on stupid things like how a park can work?"

"And remember the fundraiser thing? That raccoon, whatever his name was, Don I think, certainly seemed to take a shining to you. He was always smiling around you and making sure you were off having a good time. From what your park mates told me, he apparently had some wood for you, and I couldn't have been happier about that. An accountant raccoon has a thing for a park manager nothing, and you just completely shoved it aside like it was nothing in your little world. Both Margaret and Don had the hots for you, and you reject them. Then, you come to me and say that they didn't care about you that way? Are you kidding me?"

"You know that Mr. Maellard really respects you too. I see him and Tim come in here every so often, and when you come up, he usually says nothing but good things. He thinks you could use some improving, but who doesn't? And don't even get me started on your little white yeti friend. Just the way he looks at you in the corner of his eye is enough to tip me off on how he feels about you... but obviously, I'm wrong, aren't I? Nothing is there in your eyes, and why should there be?"

The woman's face curls and contorts into an expression of complete retribution as she continues her tirade against Benson. "You know what you are, Benson? You are without a doubt the biggest hypocrite I have every met in my entire life. You're the kind of person who bitches and moans about being stuck in a rut, and wanting something different to happen to you, and the moment you get out of it, you complain about wanting to get back into the shit you were just complaining about. It's easier to stick to a routine then it is to ever get caught up in something that could be considered potentially harmful to you, huh? That's what all this monster business is about, isn't it? You wanted something to happen, and you got it! You got a homicidal monster wondering the park and the streets, you got me back in your life, you got men and women flocking to you, and you don't want a single bit of it. You are only happy when you're miserable, and it's utterly pathetic. You won't even admit it."

She crosses her arms and leans back in her seat. "Go on then," she yells, "tell me I'm wrong! Tell me how much of a worthless bitch I am, and how I screwed you over and broke your heart. Go around and tell everyone just how cruel I am, so that when they meet me, they already have a negative impression of me. Turn me into the bad guy if that's what makes you feel better about yourself. Whatever gets you to sleep at night is fine with me. But just remember this Benson... it doesn't change the kind of person you are today. You are still a sad dreamer who is begging for all of the fairy tales he thought up in his head to come true. Well guess what? They aren't coming true. You're just going to have to deal with the hand you were dealt. You can either learn to play the game like the rest of us, or bear with it. Your choice." She sighs and just watches Benson's expression, waiting for him to lash out at her.

But he doesn't. His face is speechless and completely white from everything she said. He could barely move from where he was at. He couldn't even make eye contact with her. His head hung low, and his eyes were wide with self loathing. It took all of his strength to move his arms, and all he could do was cling them around each other. He brought his feet up and tried to bury everything else around him. All he wanted was utter blackness to come and swallow him whole. If anytime he wished for Pestilence to make its appearance, right then would have been the exact spot.

He hated the silence that was brimming from all around him. There needed to be a sound of some sort to drown out his horrific thoughts. The TV in the shop wasn't even on, and there were still no customers their either. It was just him and Veronica, across from each other, both of which swept up in their own emotions. He wanted to run as far away as he possibly could, just away away away. He buried his head between his legs and did his best to make all the bad thoughts and images go away. But every time he forced one out, another would appear and take it's place. From the park, to Skips, to Margaret, to his work, to Mordecai and Rigby, to Pops, to Maellard, to Muscle Man and High Five Ghost, to Pestilence, to Veronica, to everything... he couldn't keep them out. They wouldn't leave no matter how hard he mentally attacked them.

His eyes finally readjusted to the world around him, and brought them up into the light. Veronica stared at him with a surprising amount of worry and confusion, but he didn't want to see her. Instead, he looked over to the stairs. They were his escape, and his salvation. If he was going to leave, it was going to be based on his own accord. No angel was going to save him this time. Skips wasn't there to protect him.

And then his mind searched for that one moment. He remembered it so clearly: those soft warm finger tips sliding along his arm up to his shoulder. He said he just wanted to see what it felt like. What did Skips feel like, he wondered. He remembered muscles that seemed made to protect and fight with, and soft white fur that was gentle to a touch all over the body. Skips' stern expressions only made him that much more of an angel – a knight even. But the more he thought about it, the more Benson wanted to shove it right out of his mind. Was it really right there in front of his eyes? Was he that ignorant and blind to the advances... from everyone?

Something was slid across the table to him, and he looked over at Veronica who had something trapped between her fingers and the table. A single check made out from her own bank account to Benson sat silently, as she tapped on the paper to rate Benson's reaction. "Take it," she said with as much sympathy as she could. "I want you to have it."

Benson didn't even look at the amount or anything about the check. He looked away and scoffed at the offer. "I don't need your charity," he said, doing his best not to sound like he was sobbing.

"It's not charity," she sighed, "it's a new lease on life. Take a look at it before you shrug it off." Her smile was actually warm, and comforting. Something about her made it seem like this was the right way of things.

Benson didn't want to see that kind of look on her face but humored her anyways. He took the check and glanced over it. Sure enough, the check was for a large amount of money - $100,000. In a corner of the check, the memo line read, "FOR A NEW LIFE," and nothing else.

"I want you to take that money, Benson," she said softly. "I want you to leave the park, and Maellard, and all of these 'troubles' and go out and see the world. Go out and find your place and what you were meant to do. Start a band, start a charity, go back to school, I don't care, but use that money to dig yourself out. I'm not giving this money to you to simply spite or rub my wealth in your face... I'm doing it because I still care about you, and that I can't stand to see you like this."

"So it's pity then?" Benson snapped.

She shook her head. Her hands wiggled a bit, as if she was trying to find something to say. "I love you, Benson. I still do after all these years... maybe not in the way you'd want me to, but still enough to know that you are a good man, even if you hate me. You know I can be a little brash and bragging about everything, but you know I'm not a bad person. I want you to go out and find a place and life that was made for you, not anybody else. Go out and live the life you were meant to have, not the life you think others want you to have. Get out of your rut and make the world around you new again. This is all that I'm asking for you Benson..."

He still held the check in his hand and sobbed slightly upon looking at it. Her words were real, and beautiful. Everything he ever said about her came back and haunted him now, more then ever. "I'm sorry," seemed like the appropriate thing to say at the time.

"Apology accepted," she said with a smile.

What he needed was right there in his hand. He thought about all the things he could possibly do with the money, and how it could change his life completely. He was given the same opportunity Veronica was given when she met her husband, as well as the same consequences. Pops, Margaret, Don, Tim, Skips, Mordecai and Rigby, Muscle Man and High Five Ghost, Maellard, and everything he had that established his life there to be were on the scale with the money. The check weighed more than any of them, as it was his only way out now...

But still...

He slid the check back to her and stood up from the table. He made his decision. He wasn't going to be happy from it, but it was the right thing to do. There were still too many unfinished things left. He couldn't leave things as they were.

So he stepped away from the woman without saying anything, knowing full well that a sad and disappointed expression was covered on her dome.

"So that's your choice then, hm?" she asked disappointingly.

Benson slowly made him way toward the stairs, keeping his eyes on his feet. "My friends still need me. I can't leave yet until I know they're alright. So just leave me alone to do that, okay?"

Veronica sighed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "The park restroom by that little stage you made," she muttered.

Benson stopped and listened. "What are you talking about. What do you...?"

"He told me you all had made a stage or something," she continued, "and were doing little performances on it. When I found out you were playing K'nuckles, I begged him to let me go, but he said it would only rouse more suspicion. I think he was more worried about me then himself. He always was sweet like that. He was already afraid Skips would start noticing the similarities. I'll bet you were a wonderful performer though. Margaret said she took some snapshots, so I might ask her for copies of them." She let out another heavy sigh and shook her head once more. "It's funny... he was worried about the yeti seeing right through him, and yet he didn't notice the doctor. It's really funny when you think about it." Veronica looked at him one more time, showing a guilt ridden expression across her face. "I just don't think you should leave here without knowing. I mean, if you want to help your friends, you gotta know where to start, right?" She watched his face grown wide and scared.

She stared at Benson's back with remorse glossed over her eyes. "Park restroom... under the floor..."

Benson didn't even need to think about it. He was already out the door the moment she muttered those last two statements. She had given Benson all the necessary pieces to connect the puzzle together, and god help him, he didn't want them to fit. But as he was running down the road into the setting sun toward the park, he realized that everything was just too perfect. There was no other way these pieces could fit, not even if he tried to warp them to his liking.

But it was there, simple as day. There was a connection, more than he had previously thought. He cursed himself repeatedly for not knowing sooner. She called him "sweet". He had to stop for a minute, thinking about that one hideous compliment. Sweet? A sweet person doesn't attack random people and kidnap them. How could she even say something like that. His mind boggled as he tried to put the two of them together. How did it happen? When did it happen? How do you meet and talk to something like that?

He passed under the archway of the park and made his way toward the park house. He needed Skips to see this. He wanted someone there to confirm what he was dreading – what he prayed was hopefully wrong. How could any of this possibly make sense?

But it just did. With the exception of the first attack, he was there at every single one of the times Pestilence was spotted. It made perfect sense. Death said it was because of the way he was. He couldn't keep it for too long, or else it would degrade. Ploddevize probably noticed and had to be taken care of. That's why he had to take Don, because he saw the whole thing. We would have found out eventually cause the police or them would have searched the park restrooms eventually.

What was the point in taking Pops though? It couldn't have been to get at Maellard. No... it was never about Maellard. If he wanted Maellard, he could have gotten him at any time. It would have been as simple as that. He didn't seem like the person to simply let his prey wander free without care. Pestilence would have killed him the moment he met him. That thing, was reaching up for something else when they looked down into the hole. It all started there, but before that even. It wasn't there to begin with – it had been buried.

Pops! He took Pops to keep Maellard off his tail. We would have found out eventually, and he could have easily used Pops as a bargaining tool to keep the old man from hunting him down. He couldn't use Pops for the other thing: far too old. That's what he had Don for. He was young and healthy.

Benson rushed into the garage and snatched up a pickaxe. The very same pickaxe that Mordecai and Rigby used that faithful day. They never got around to putting it up.

"SKIPS!" Benson yelled in front of the house. The yeti trotted out, wondering what all the commotion was about. Benson didn't even say anything, and motioned the yeti to follow him. He led him toward park restroom by the stage, his mind full of answers and revelations. He jumped inside, and didn't even wait for the yeti to catch up to him. He brought the pickaxe up and slammed it down onto the concrete floor.

Just as he did this, the room began to ripple and twist from the impact point. Skips jumped in, just in time to see the world grow slightly hazy and images appear in front of them. There, the ghostly silhouettes of four people appeared.

"All done here, for anyone who wants to use it!" a raccoon shaped image said as it walked out of the stall.

"I think I'll manage," Ploddevize sighed, leaning against the sink. The nurse stood beside him, eying her watch, just ready to leave.

Timothy stood at the entrance. "You're quite a sarcastic person, aren't ya doc?"

Ploddevize shrugged and approached the man, giving Don full range of the sink. "Year of practicing medicine will do that to a person. You alright?"

"What do you mean?" Tim asked, shocked by the sudden concern.

"You seem a little pale," he replied. "Mind if I take a look at you?"

"Be my guest."

The doctor looked at Timothy's face and shook his head. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for a little pale skin. He examined his neck and pulse, stopping for a second and then pulling away. He lifted his sleeve up and observed the skin on his arm, before bringing it back down.

"What's the prognosis, doc?" Tim said with a grin.

Martin Ploddevize had seen many things in his life, but this was certainly different. Zombies were one thing, but this guy? He reached into his pocket and gripped at something inside. "You have no pulse, your skin is as white as snow, and some of the flesh on your arm is actually beginning to decompose. I don't think you're alive."

Timothy's eyes went wide in surprise. "Really? You're sure?"

Martin pressed the switch to the devise in his pocket on, and took another step back. The nurse was now looking on with interest, and grew worried from the concerned look on the doctor's face. "I'm absolutely sure. In fact, your showing symptoms of someone who should be dead for a few weeks now," Martin groaned.

"Damn," Tim sighed. "This soon, huh? I thought I had at least another two months or so. Oh well."

Martin didn't even get the chance to get his tazer out of his pocket. The black ooze exploded out of Timothy's skin, spreading all over the doctor and shoving him to the ground. It turned to rubber and wrapped itself all over the good man, eyes of different regions and types spreading out all over him. The nurse screamed and tried to get away, but was met with the same fate as Tim brought his hand up, and shot the same putrid darkness all over her, wrapping her in an all seeing casket.

Don didn't seen the attack at first. It went by so fast that the only thing that tipped him off to the danger was the scream of the now cocooned nurse falling to the floor. He spun around and found Timothy right in his face.

"You're actually still useful," the man said, grabbing Don by the neck.

The next moment, Benson didn't want to watch. Much like a snake, the man unhinged his jaw, and bit into the raccoon's head. Without so much as care, he lifted him up from off the ground over his head, slowly and sickeningly sliding the raccoon into his throat. Black ooze formed around his lips to help the body slide into his stomach with better ease. All the while, Don screamed for help, yelling out for anyone that might have been outside, his voice being muffled by the hideous ingestion he was experiencing. He called out especially for Rigby and Benson, which stabbed Benson in his gears on such an emotionally powerful level, he felt like he was on the verge of wretching simply for that and not as much the act happening in front of him.

Timothy's body never expanded from the large mass entering into himself, but all over the parts of him where pale flesh showed, little eyes opened up and gleefully laughed, crying tears of red and black. When it was done, he swallowed what was left of Don and wiped his mouth as if trying to impress someone with his manners. The eyes closed, and healed up any wounds they may have caused. With that, he heaved a happy sigh and looked down at the two hostages in front of him.

"Now then..." he said.

The room began to ripple again, and reform itself back into the present day. The ground beneath both Benson and Skips cracked and broke. The pieces didn't even break itself smaller pieces, turning into dust and disappearing a moment later. There, in the hole of the bathroom were Ploddevize and the nurse, still captive, and about ten feet down. Their prisons had extended some appendages and were slowly digging their way done into the earth, giving them a fitting burial. Skips wasted no time jumping down and throwing them back up to proper level. He brought out his book of matches, and ignited the cocoons as quickly as he could. They screamed in laughter and pain, and disappeared, leaving the two humans there. Both of them looked haggard and exhausted. The nurse in particular looked as though she had woken up from a bad dream, while Ploddevize was completely catatonic. The yeti knew they needed to be purified soon, but wasn't sure if he needed to take care of their wounds first.

"Benson," the yeti started, "go to my shack. Get my first aid kit, as well as the supplies needed to conduct the purifying ritual." He looked to the gumball machine for a confirmation, but Benson remained in his place. "Benson?"

"It was never after Maellard in the first place, was it?" the gumball machine asked, his face filled with anger.

Skips gulped. The last piece had fallen into place.

"He was after you this whole time."

The yeti closed his eyes and let a breath escape his nostrals. "No Benson... he's not coming after me," he said, his eyes growing sad. "He's actually coming after you."

Benson twitched. When he thought about, he was right. They were all specific, directed right at him. He stood there thinking about everything...

And then he rushed forward and punched Skips right across the face. The yeti grimaced but took the pain. It was the first time Benson had ever hurt him so hard.

* * *

><p>Night was slowly approaching the park, covering their world in an ever growing darkness that enveloped them with incoming dread. The ambulance with Ploddevize and the nurse drove off with its sirens blaring; bright sights and sounds lit the way to a better future for them. Skips had already performed the purifying ritual on them, and prayed that there wouldn't be any complications with them from there on out. But he wasn't that concerned about the two humans. His focus was drawn to Benson, who looked as though he were holding the whole world up on his shoulders.<p>

He wanted to say something to comfort Benson in his time of need, but anything he thought about sounded awkward and jumbled. He didn't want his friend to find out about it this way. He thought there was more time to prepare, and hopefully stop it all before it went out of control. He failed in that area.

Benson licked his lips to protect himself from the dry air all around him, and watched the bright lights of the ambulance fade off into the distance. "Except one," he said out loud.

Skips watched him. He didn't bother to ask what he meant by that.

"Death said, 'except maybe one,'" Benson continued. "If I had to guess, that 'except maybe one' was you. Am I wrong?"

Skips continued to say nothing. Anything he said would have fallen on deaf ears anyways.

"I can't believe I didn't see it earlier," Benson groaned. "It never had any problem with Maellard to begin with. The damn thing was employed by Maellard! If it wanted to kill the man, it would have done it on day one of his employment. Not only that, but he was at every single attack with the exception of the first one. Obviously, after it exploded all over the park, it just killed some random patron in the park and took his body to move around. I guarantee you if we looked for any records on Timothy Reynolds, we wouldn't find a damn thing."

Benson kicked at the ground, cursing his own stupidity, before looking up at Skips with angry eyes. "And then there's you!" he yelled. "You knew exactly what that thing was this entire time and you didn't say anything! You lied to my face!"

"I didn't lie," Skips argued. "When you asked me what it was, I said I knew enough about it. That wasn't a lie. I don't know a whole lot about Pestilence, and I don't want to know about him to be honest. That idiot has caused me enough grief in my life as it is."

"Caused you enough grief!" Benson bellowed. "You mean the grief of the park being torn apart twice, or the fact that he attacked us countless times, or that he put Don in the hospital, or kidnapped our friends? Is that the grief you're talking about?"

Skips went silent.

"Because you are aware if we were informed of this thing, then our grief could have been anticipated and maybe even avoided!" The walking machine let out a loud scream and stamped at the ground. "What on Earth would compel you not to tell us about that thing! Why would you keep it a secret for this long!"

Skips continued to stay silent. The words he wanted to say were within his grasp now, but to say them would be admitting something else. And if he admitted it, then things would only get more complicated.

"Skips, I asked you a question!"

But he remained as quiet as he could be, looking slightly away from the gumball machine. His eyes focused on the city in the distance, as he wondered if the people there knew just how much danger they were in. And for the matter, did Maellard understand the situation he was put into? The old man didn't even know he had employed his son's captor.

"I order you to tell me, Skips!"

And then there was the rest of the park staff. How were they going to react when they found out that Timothy, whom they believed to be Maellard's trusting bodyguard, was actually a malformation of sickness itself? What would they think when they found out that there was a chance all of it could have been prevented?

"SAY SOMETHING!"

"I didn't want it to hurt you!" the yeti finally screamed out. "You don't know what that thing is capable of! You don't know what that thing has done to all the people I've loved in my life!"

"And by not saying anything to us, that's supposed to help!" Benson screamed back. "Don't you think if you told us, we would have tried to stop it?"

"You don't understand," Skips continued. "That thing and Death are ruthless. They'll stop at nothing to make sure that my life is ruined and my soul is reaped. I don't want any part of that!" The yeti then turned on his heel and began to skip away.

"So what then," Benson yelled, "are you just going to run away?"

"It's worked so far," Skips replied. "It usually buys me another fifty or sixty years before one of the two of them catches up to me. And now that they both know I'm here, it's just going to make things even worse for everyone else."

Benson couldn't believe what he was hearing. Skips was seriously about to ditch him and the park for his own selfish reasons. He chased after him, hoping to convince him otherwise. "Don and Pops are being held captive by that thing right now, Skips! We can't just let it have it's way! We need to find a way to get them back!"

"They're as good as dead," Skips bluntly said. "And if I stay around here any longer, you'll end up the same way."

Benson shook his head and continued to follow. "I'm still alive, aren't I? So obviously, it's not very good at trying to kill me."

"It's just playing with you," the yeti added.

"And I'm still here!"

"It's only a matter of time."

"And that's time we have to fix this."

"It's not going to stop!"

"But we can try!"

"I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me, so just LEAVE ME ALONE!" Skips screamed.

Benson didn't want to listen to it. He grabbed at Skips arm and tried to pull it towards him in an attempt to stop the beast from going away. He found his legs to be dragged along by the strength of his coworker, making the task almost completely pointless. "Would you stop!" he said trying to tug as hard as he could. "Would you just stop!"

His feet caught on something along the ground and Benson lost his grip, tumbling onto the grass and stayed there. His anger and rage caught up to him and he began to slam with fists and feet onto the ground in fit of desperation. His screams echoed the surrounding areas, forcing birds to flee from the trees and the insects to hide in the soil. His body twisted and pounded, screaming out unknown words and curses. He wished for him to come back, but coherency did not agree with him at that moment. Finally, when all of his anger had been expelled, he just stopped moving and looked up at the sky.

He breathed heavily, pondering if it would be okay if he just stopped breathing altogether. Everything was just coming at him so fast, he didn't have time to react or process it. The past twenty-four hours had been nothing short of a nightmare to him, and he was still far from waking up. Now, the only other person who could possibly help him through all of it, was running away. Benson was lost again, unaware of where to go or even how to get there.

"COWARD!" he yelled into the night sky. "I TRUSTED YOU!"

He never associated Skips with fear – not once in his life. Out of everyone in the park, Skips was the one who showed the most resolve and bravery in the face of danger. The park had been threatened countless times, and he never once tried to shy away from it. He always wanted to help his home, and help his friends. But now, there he was trying to get away from his problems instead of trying to face them like he should be. Just an hour earlier, Benson was given the opportunity to do the same thing, but rejected it to see all this through to the end.

Nothing around him really synced up with anything he thought. He was confused. Everything was spinning so quickly, it made him dizzy and nauseous. Benson wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh like a lunatic, or cry and let the world take him away. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He was suppose to be in his place finally, and yet, he was on the park ground, whimpering for everything that the past few weeks had put him through.

Something walked over to him as he lay on the ground watching the stars. The way the sounds came in galloping one after another caused the gumball machine to frown with anger. His image of the sky was blocked out by Skips looking down on him. The yeti's eyes were nothing short of apologetic and guilty. He sighed and sat on the ground next to sprawled out Benson.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked, still staring down at his boss.

Benson said nothing and nodded. A cool breeze crept across the park, pushing the grass and leaves in its direction, and causing a chill to run through Benson.

"Alright," the yeti replied to him. "Alright…"

**REM Sleep –** _Himuro Yoshiteru_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Longest chapter of the story thus far, and I had so much fun writing it; wrote it in a day too. I think it's somewhere around the 11,000 words area, no idea though. But needless to say, I had a lot to put into it considering this is kind of one of the big reveal chapters. I still got a few more giant chapters down the pipeline as well. I hope the length doesn't scare you all off. The next couple of chapters are very long as well. Just giving everyone a heads up!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	22. Ramalama Bang Bang

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Ramalama (Bang Bang)**

It feels like a jolt of electricity at first, almost painful as it surges through the body. After a second or two though, the initial sensation wears off, and is instead replaced with a more overwhelming invigorating feeling. It's a feeling as if one would be able to take on the world. That the shackles that kept one down had been broken and that nothing could get in their way. And then, just like that, it's all over. For a whole day's worth of preparation, and a whole night's worth of action, the experience lasted for less than a few seconds.

Skips exhaled, letting out a light grunt as he fell to the cool evening grass beneath him. He had always found that the park grass felt better against his fur and flesh after performing the ritual. The terrible downside to the ritual is that it drained all of his energy, leaving him an empty husk on the ground, watching the fire pit in front of him sputter and die out. He laid there for about an hour, catching his breath and letting his brow cool off by the sweat that trickled down from his forehead.

It wasn't all bad though. He got to listen to the birds and the bugs chirp and creak at one another, while watching the moon overhead slowly make its way to the other side of the world. When it had reached one side of the horizon, the sun slowly peeked itself out the other end. Dawn was approaching, and much like the sun rising, Skips, the hulking white yeti, could feel his energy return to him slowly. He hoped he could be back at 100% within the hour. He had work to do at the park, and couldn't afford a day off. Pops and Benson were probably just then waking up, and the two of them alone couldn't take care of the park and all of its troubles on their own.

The yeti tried to move his arms. They felt like they must have weighed about 200 pounds a piece. 200 pounds wasn't so bad though. Skips could lift an addition hundred or two if he wanted to. But when his strength was this low…

"What do we have here?" asked a simple voice of English accent to the yeti's side. He shifted his glance over to a tree stump a few feet away. On in sat a strangely dressed fellow who looked as though he had just fallen out of a time warp from a galaxy far, far away. He wore a dark colored vest leaving his chest exposed to the air, while his jeans looked tattered and torn. Yet, his boots seemed to be in pristine condition, sparkling and shining against the morning light. His eyes shined bright in the shape of golden stars that gleaned along with the golden blonde hair that flowed with the wind under his headband. "Still undying, I see," he continued as he looked down at the yeti from his seat.

Skips found himself smiling a little bit as he recognized the person across from him; someone he had known for a very long time. "Hello Gary," he coughed out. The beast found himself coughing uncontrollably as he greeted his old friend. It was more than likely a side effect of the ceremony. He may have been slowly getting his energy and spirit back, but his body still remained weak and exhausted. "Here to check up on me?" Skips asked in between bouts of coughing.

The skinny human in front of him giggled as he continued to watch the yeti on the ground. He allowed a small comfortable silence to fill the space between the two of them before answering. "How many years have we done this Skips?"

"Too many," the yeti replied, doing his best to pick himself up.

"I'll say," Gary agreed with him. He crossed his legs and shifted his sight away from the yeti in favor of the trees. "I think most immortals who reach your age are at the point of losing their minds. I rarely see anyone get to the point that you're at.

"I guess that makes me a pretty special case, doesn't it?" Skips announced as he continued to watch the celestial being. "Do I win anything?"

"Another year of life," Gary beamed. "Congratulations."

They both exchanged friendly laughs and relaxed while enjoying the other's company. Gary was of course there to make sure the ceremony had gone off without a hitch, and that he didn't have to drive Skips back to the Gods of Youth to be euthanized. It made him somewhat happy to see the yeti in such good spirits, especially to survive this long without a mental breakdown of any sort. Or at least, a breakdown caused on by his immortality.

"Hey, Gary, you think you could give me a hand here?"

The messenger chuckled under his breath and brought his finger up. It glowed lightly, spreading its yellow haze all over Skips. When he had finished, the mammoth of a man jumped up with renewed energy. He checked his body for any side effects from Gary's little "rejuvenating ray" and was happy to see nothing was broken or out of place.

"Thanks," he said gratefully. "I should buy you a drink sometime for that; seems like I'm always asking that from you every year."

"Seems like?" Gary snipped playfully. "You DO ask me for that every year."

Another round of laughter between the two, and the day had officially begun.

"Wanna walk with me back to the house?" Skips asked him, skipping ahead.

The being shrugged and nodded. "I have nothing better to do," he said, following along behind. "The Gods of Youth haven't been giving me many assignments lately. All's pretty quiet upstairs, actually. I've actually been thinking about getting back into bowling to pass the time."

"You don't say?" Skips replied. "And how's Death doing?"

"Cranky and ungrateful as ever," Gary said back to him.

"Has you guys found a new Conquest, yet?"

The angelic man shook his head and let out a gasp of sheer agitation. "'Fraid not. Seems like every time they send me off to find a new candidate, they're either dead or not who we thought they were. We did scope out a new potential in an alternate universe a few months ago."

Skips cocked an eyebrow and grinned, waiting for the explanation as to why.

"But unfortunately," Gary continued, "he was subdued before we could get in contact with him. He had a good moxie about him, and caused quite the stink around three people in particular. The funny part is the way he was eliminated. One of the three people jabbed a piece of wooden debris into his crotch, and then he exploded. The image was disturbing… though… quite entertaining to say the least."

"That'll ruin anyone's day," Skips said, feeling terrible for their "potential candidate".

"Yes well… we did find another one, but… I'm afraid he made his decision and denied us of his company. I didn't take the reaction too well, and took it out on his friend. It wasn't a bright spot on my record."

Skips rolled his eyes and shook his head in displeasure at his friend.

"Don't give me that look," Gary laughed, "It's not like you haven't lost your temper every now and then, either."

That didn't stop Skips from giving him the stink eye, which Gary just waved off and let it go. Skips was always giving most other immortals a look of disappointment by the way they handled things.

Skips let out another brief laugh that was swiftly replaced with a worried frown and fearful eyes. His brain had concocted a terrible question he was almost too afraid to ask. "Have you seen 'him' around lately?"

Gary stopped behind Skips and folded his arms. "You shouldn't ask me that. You know if I knew the whereabouts of 'him', I'd tell you immediately." He watched Skips stop as well and observed the beast's shoulders slouch and sag. "Death and Pestilence are too random of entities for me or even any of the other gods to keep track of at all times. We're lucky to know Death is 50% of the time. So I'll just say the same thing I tell you every year: Watch your back and watch the people who you think are your friends. Pestilence is a tricky one. You already know that."

Unfortunately for Skips, he did already know this. He had dealt with that monster far too many times before to know just how tricky and unstable he could be. The yeti prayed that he would never find him again, but already knew Pestilence was actively seeking him out, while doing his own thing.

"You seem to be in good standings though," Gary added. "I don't see a reason for him to target you right now, unless he was completely and utterly bored."

Skips grunted under his breath and resumed his skipping. "You coming?" he asked without turning around.

"No, I think I'll head back now," the man said. "Try not to worry too much about him. Can you do that for me, Skips?" He waited for a sign that the yeti wasn't going to over stress about Pestilence, but received no such sign. Gary frowned, feeling dejected and began to glow slowly. "Happy Birthday Skips." And then he was gone.

Within moments, the house was in view, and Pops was already out on the porch, greeting the morning sun and doing some calisthenics. He happily greeted Skips, whom he wished a belated happy birthday to, and continued to do his work outs.

Skips never liked his birthday. It reminded him too much of the past, and everything he had lost. It told him too much of the future, and at everything that he would eventually gain, only to be taken away. Immortality was made up of almost nothing but boredom, but he wouldn't have it any other way. There were reasons he kept himself undying.

He thanked Pops for the compliment and made it into the house to get some breakfast. His body may have been energized, but his stomach was still empty. As he entered the house, the sweet scent of baked foods and pan grilled treats entered the man's nostrils. His mouth watered at the aroma of meats and baked dough. He quickly skipped into the kitchen to see what had been made, and was surprised at what he saw.

Out on the kitchen table was a freshly made chocolate cake, complete with vanilla frosting, and a single candle. By no means was it a large cake, but certainly enough for a slice or two for three people. Next to it was a complete meal with sausage, pancakes, and hash browns – the usual breakfast melody. It seemed relatively simple, though the most interesting point was the sleeping gumball machine, leaned against the table with his head placed on his folded arms. He rested silently in his seat, waiting for his guest to arrive.

Most people would be ecstatically happy to see such a deal in celebration of their birthday day. It really wasn't a party, per say, but it was something. Skips however, didn't like people celebrating his day of birth. No one ever threw him a party, and he liked to keep it that way, if he could. The less said about his life and age, the better. He even explicitly told this to Benson the past decade or so he had been working with him that he just didn't like people celebrating that day. If he were awake he probably would have gotten an ear full from the large man.

Still, he was hungry, and it looked as though Benson did try to go to some lengths to make sure Skips had some kind of enjoyable birthday. He moaned and collected some plates from the cupboard, equally filling each one up with all the goodies from the table. He put one in front of Benson, one in front of an empty chair, and then sat the other one done with him at the table. He looked at the sleeping gumball machine one more time and shrugged, digging into the breakfast.

Benson shifted in his spot and lifted his head up groggy. He held at his dome, trying to remember what was going on, until he saw Skips. "Oh, Skips!" he exclaimed. He looked down and found the plate in front of him, ready for eating. "I see you found the breakfast I made for everyone."

"Yeah, yeah," the yeti groaned. "You know you didn't have to make this for me."

"I made it for everyone, Skips," Benson yawned. "I just thought it'd be a good idea to make a big breakfast for everyone, no questions asked." Though he was sleepy, there was the distinct tone of deliberate sarcasm and awareness of what the food was really there for.

"And the cake?" Skips asked between bites.

"What? I can't make a cake at 5am for the hell of it?" Benson followed it up with a laugh, which was quickly stifled by another yawn.

Skips wondered how long Benson had been up, or when he even went to bed. It was nice of him to prepare something like that for him, and do his best to deny what it really was for. Apparently, Benson had been listening the past few years. "Well, it's good food, Benson," the yeti smirked.

"I'm happy you like it," Benson said with a wide smile.

Pops joined them some time later and the three ate through their "spur of the moment big breakfast" together, and conversed about the day's chores and such. With the exception of Pops best wishes a moment earlier, the yeti's birthday was not brought up again for the rest of the day. He liked it that way.

The day pondered on by with the usual drag of park work and chores that the three men had grown so used to doing at this point. The amount of food they had eaten earlier especially slowed them down making them lethargic and lazy. They knew they couldn't take many breaks though, and continued on through lunch, which they lazily spent at the kitchen table talking, still too full from breakfast to eat anything else.

The conversations were really about nothing, talking about their lives as well as this and that. It didn't last long. A knock came in from the back door, and in stepped Maellard, a sunny smile all over his face.

"Good afternoon everyone!" he said with as much enthusiasm as he could possibly muster. "I do hope my workers are having a wonderful day!"

There was something about his voice that even Pops could tell was different. It all sounded too forced, as if he was trying to impress someone and not be the sore stick in the mud that he was. The group was suspicious.

"We're doing alright," Benson finally said.

"That's excellent to hear Bentip!" the old man replied happily. "I have a guest here I'd like for you all to meet!"

The three men watched with minor interest as Maellard stepped aside and in walked a short gray furred possum, shyness and worry stretched across his face, as he held what seemed to be a book with the current year etched out on its spine. The group looked down at him, all with quizzical expressions as they tried to understand who this short man was.

Pops was the first to look away as his memory dug deep to try and recognize the person here. He was sure he had seen him before. "I feel like I should know you," he said to the shy animal, "but you were always hanging around with someone else?"

"That's right, Pops!" Maellard exclaimed joyously. "This here is Barnaby, one of the three primary share holders for Aristotle's Tinctures and Regular Supplies."

"That's a bit of a mouth full," Benson commented.

"The name was my idea," the possum gulped. "My friend… he tried but… he's not very good with naming things. The investors liked my name better."

Benson scratched the back of his dome and tried to grin confidently. "Well it's… unique. And kind of catchy, I guess."

Barnaby gave Benson a little eye contact, but looked away shyly before clutching his book close to him. The possum obviously wasn't one for conversation, or even social interaction for that matter. Benson understood this, and actually admired the little guy for a moment.

"By the way, Bensip," Maellard began, "who are those two men outside making donuts in the golfcart?"

Benson jumped up and dashed to the window, before groaning and banging his head against the wall. "Those are the new hires: Muscle Man and High Five Ghost. I'll go break them up."

"See that you do," the old man scorned. He glared at the gumball machine as Benson made his way past him, and out the back door. When he was gone, he turned back to the group with a smile. "Now, where was I?"

Skips and Pops exchanged a quick glance and then looked down at the scared and socially awkward possum.

"What is he doing here, anyways?" Skips finally asked.

"Glad you asked that, Skips!" Maellard responded with a happy laugh. "As you may or may not know, our little possum friend here is one of the three majority stock holders for his company. The business has been booming as of late with shares skyrocketing. However, while I am not privy to all the information, he's had a bit of a fall out with his other two business partners. So, he came to me with interest in selling his stock. He owns nearly 40% of the company as one of the founding members, you know."

"Oh my," Pops said, holding his hands up to his hands. Though he didn't know much about finances or stocks, he was completely aware of the company as well as the bird duo and possum team that owned it.

"You're right to be shocked," Maellard continued. "This young man right here is worth just over 250 million dollars in his current state. Needless to say, he's a very important individual. So, I'm showing him around the city in hopes that he'll invest in my company as well as our fair city!"

It all sounded very staged and phony coming from Maellard's mouth. He was obviously in a business mode, and was doing his damnedest to make sure that Barnaby would sell to him. It was almost comical to watch the old man put on as wide a smile as he possibly could.

"So do you like our city so far?" Pops asked the animal. He nodded without looking toward the old man, which was enough to cause Pops to giggle enthusiastically.

"Well this is wonderful then!" Maellard happily yelled, catching them all off guard. "Our guest seems to be enjoying himself. I'm going to go and show him around the park, and then we shall go and enjoy a good lunch. Pops, I want you to come along!"

"But I've already eaten, papa!" Pops complained. It didn't stop the man from getting dragged along by his wrist out the door. The possum followed along, looking back at Skips for a brief moment before leaving with them.

Benson scooted past them with a frown and sat down at the table with Skips. "Those two might just kill me."

"Who? Maellard and Pops, or the new hires?"

Benson sighed and shrugged. "I don't think I even know anymore. The new hires were at least nice enough to go work some more on their chores. They're crazy insane, but at least they get the job done." He sighed again and rubbed his temple.

Skips watched the gumball machine groan with agitation and got up from his seat. He walked over to his coworker, now boss, and quickly rubbed his shoulder as he passed by. "You've been stressing out to much lately. Maybe it's time for a vacation."

"Can't afford it," Benson countered. "I'm the park manager now; I have extra responsibilities that you all don't have. I'm gonna be extra busy for a while now."

Skips twitched his mouth and rolled his eyes in his own bit of tired annoyance. Benson had been getting quite antsy the past couple of days, especially with his promotion going into full effect. He had his own little office in the house now, and was constantly moving back and forth from chores to paper work. While Skips knew the job came with more daunting tasks to deal with, it still saddened him that he wouldn't be working with his coworker as much anymore. Still, Benson was good with advice, and made for nice company when he was around. He just needed to get into the groove of things before he was able to find a rut he could settle down with. Only then would he be able to make some time for fun, here and there.

"Say, could you do me a favor?" Benson asked, changing the subject. "The idiots over at the test labs screwed up, and they lost Muscle Man and High Five Ghost's drug tests, so I have to go and take the two of them down there for another test. Unfortunately, Maellard wants the full details by tomorrow, so we're gonna be there a bit waiting for the results. Do you mind watching the park tonight after your shifts are over?"

It seemed like a simple enough request to make. Skips nodded and agreed to him.

"Thanks," the gumball machine said. "I can't believe those idiots misplaced lost their stuff. How do you lose a cup or piss, and a cup of ectoplasm?"

Skips shrugged. "I don't know. They don't seem very competent down there anyways. And you really need to stop stressing over little things that aren't your fault. Try to relax, will ya?"

Benson clicked his teeth together and shook his head. "I can relax when I'm dead."

The yeti didn't like hearing that, but knew he couldn't say anything to change Benson's mood otherwise. So he let it go, and let the rest of the day and its chores pass him by in a blur. They came, and went. With that, the sun had begun to set, and even with dusk slowly waning, Benson still remained ever stressed and annoyed, especially when taking a wooing Muscle Man and excitable ghostly friend into the city for more drug testing.

Skips waved goodbye to the bunch and stepped back into the house. He found it a lot easier to keep track of the park by staying in the house. He enjoyed the shack he had been given post-Christmas, but it was closer to the outskirts of the park, and made getting to certain areas more of a hassle. The house, on the other hand, was smack dab in the middle of park and made it the same distance to get everywhere. It's not like he'd need to worry about it though. The park rarely had any problems at night, save for the occasional eldritch abomination that was unleashed by the park usually by accident, but those were extremely rare, once every couple of months occurrences that know one worried too much about.

He heaved a heavy breath as he looked out the window to the golf cart with all of his coworkers in it, fading off into the distance. When they were gone, he looked around the house simply to be courteous and make sure there wasn't anything around that shouldn't be. As usual, the place seemed quiet and calm, with little to no disruption, save for the occasional creaking. The house had come a long way since he first started, no longer empty and vacant, but now full of furniture and a surprisingly nice place to live. Still, Pops was on his own now, and there was something about that that saddened both the yeti and gumball machine. With Muscle Man and HFG supplying their own trailer as a means to live, it left Skips wondering who would occupy the house with the old man next.

He stepped down into the basement, still deep in thought and shivered at the temperature below. The furnace never reached underneath the house, and it was usually the coldest place of the bunch, especially with the freezer directly connected to it. However, there was something about the room that Skips absolutely adored. There was a quiet solitude about it that he felt close with. When he was living at the house, whenever he needed some time to himself, he'd just go to the basement and let the cold winds blow aside him as he relaxed against the wall. There, he could think clearly about the past and present without having to be bothered by the nosey coworkers.

Skips stopped just short of the last step down when he saw something in the middle of the room, curled up and looking dead. His eyes went wide as he recognized the small gray puffball as Maellard's guest from earlier. He almost ran over to him to see if he was okay, until the creature moved just slightly.

"Did I scare you?" Barnaby sighed softly. He let out a playful laugh and happily sprawled out on the cool concrete. "Playing dead is so much fun! I don't know why I didn't learn to do it sooner."

Skips cocked an eyebrow and stepped down into the room, looking down at the animal oddly. "What are you doing here?" he asked, slightly confused. "Were you still… eh… exploring?"

"Exploring?" the possum said questionably. "Oh, with Maellard, you mean? Naw… I dumped him around dinner time. I had to tell him that I was g-g-g-g-g-getting a little worried, and wanted to go back to my hotel room. Poor sap bought that in a snap." He giggled, dancing his feet around in a little jig that only he heard.

"Umm," Skips stuttered, "that's… good?"

"You bet it's good! I mean, hell, it's even better than good; it's great! I got me 40% of this sad excuse for a life form's company, I'm going to slowly overtake this idiot Maellard's, aaaaaaaaaand… I foooooooooound yooooooouuuuuuuuu, Waaaaaaaaaaalks!"

Skips jumped back at the announcement of his original name. There was no way this little possum knew who he was. And to all of suddenly switch into a completely different personality so suddenly? He had heard of business men doing something similar to that, but this… this was different. His mannerisms, the way he spoke, his personality – there was no doubt in Skips mind.

"Get out," Skips said, softly at first.

"Why?" the possum grinned. "Has poor little Barnaby done something to upset you?" His grin morphed into a twisted laugh, doing his best to hold it in.

"Get out!" the yeti exclaimed, his voice growing higher.

"I don't see why you're acting like a fool all of a suddenly," Barnaby sighed. "It's very unbecoming of a gentlemen, don't you agree?"

"GET OUT!"

His voiced echoed through the basement and the house, shaking the walls around him. Skips teeth were at the point of grinding as he looked down at the possum. In that instant though, the smug sense of self respect that it held disappeared in favor of fear and horror.

"Where am I?" the possum asked, his voice slightly higher. He looked around the room, clutching at his chest as if to keep his heart from escaping. "Where's Nick? I thought we were out for lunch and then…"

Skips upper lip twisted and twitched as he watched the possum revert back to his original personality. "Oh God… you kept him alive?"

The head of the possum twitched and snapped in a few places as the smug expression returned. "Well of course," he said happily. "That idiot cardinal would probably get suspicious if his best friend up and died like that. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I had the intention of keeping him alive. Plus, knowing this guys personality, it was easy to create a big fuss between him and his friends and put a nail in that coffin. And now, I have 40% of the stock in the company. Even better, I have emotionally destroyed the other birds in the company, making all this even more sweeter. It'll only be a matter of time before the company goes under. And by then, Barnaby here will have outlived his usefulness, and I'll just leave him in a ditch somewhere like the road kill he is."

Skips shined his fangs at Pestilence in hopes to scare him away. The animal simply scoffed at them and shrugged them off.

"All I had to do was get the ball rolling," Pestilence continued. "Maellard was more than happy to show me around town in hopes of getting some of the stock. I was actually thinking about selling him 20% of it tomorrow, and then slowly weaseling my way into his good graces. Then when I was high enough, drop him like stone and take both companies for myself. Ain't it a great plan? I even have all the shares made out to my wife, just in case shit hits the fan."

Skips' jaw nearly dropped. "You got married? YOU!"

"Oh absolutely," Pestilence continued. "And she just absolutely hates this form. I mean, she compared the love making to having sex with a stuffed animal. I got a few chuckles out of that, but I sadly agree with her. This body is a mess, I swear. It's even stranger for her since she's not technically a living thing. I think she has a fetish for mammals or something. As long as it's over five feet and has a dick, she's satisfied." The possum eyed Skips with a wink, but frowned when he saw the enraged expression on the yeti's face. "Don't give me that look. Its bad enough I have to live with this body for the time being, not to mention the cross chatter I get when I try to think. But seriously, I don't think you know what I have to deal with. I deserve a little sympathy right now, don't you agree?"

Skips took a step forward. He wasn't sure what it was he was going to do, but he was going to make sure it counted. There were three thoughts on the yeti's mind: 1). Separate the possum from Pestilence, 2). Beat the ever living shit out of Pestilence, and 3). Get him out of the park as fast as possible. And then, there was the thought of what to do when he was gone.

Pestilence watched him think and snidely smirked. "Buuuuuuuuut, I have to admit that this whole thing got a little sweeter. Maellard goes and shows me around the park, and what do I find to my surprise, but my old friend, Walks, working at some park in some city in the middle of nowhere. And shirtless apparently… why the sudden need to go topless? Is this a new fashion statement or something?" He giggled and looked over the yeti. "Last time I saw you, you were wearing button ups and had your hair tied back into a pony tail. Well… that's not true. The last time I saw you, they were putting your daughter and grandchild in the ground as I recall."

Skips put more pressure down onto his teeth, his fists clenching so hard, he could feel the blood pooling onto his fingertips. This creature in front of him relished in the beast's misery, and had a habit for crossing the line several times over. The sheer fact he brought up Skips' late daughter (let alone any of his deceased loved ones) was nothing short of an insult, especially coming from this man's mouth.

"Oh, I should probably mention," the possum went on, "I went to go visit your daughter's lover – Amy was it – at that mental institution you dumped her at. When she saw me, oh boy... the show she put on. Nurses drugged her up so hard she was out for four days straight. They had to put in IV in her just to keep her alive. All because she saw me for four seconds." The sheer amount of malicious sarcasm in his voice finally sent the yeti over the edge. "And all I had to say to her was 'Maxine,' and that was more than enough to..."

Skips lashed forward and took the possum by the neck, pinning him against the wall. He restrained himself however as to make sure that the host body didn't receive that much damage. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"

"Does it hurt, Walks?" the creature snipped. "Does it hurt when I talk about Maxine? Or what about Mary? Does it sting your heart when I mention Williams, of Patricia, or Matsuda, or Elaine, or Trish? Does it hurt to know that you couldn't protect any of them from me! DOES IT HURT KNOWING HOW I KILLED THEM!"

Skips brought the possum back and slammed his head against the wall, this time with force. It left a small impression of blood on the wall, which Skips noticed immediately. He had to calm down. If this continued, he might end up killing the poor host possum that Pestilence was possessing. He took some deep breaths and tried to calm himself down.

"Hey Walks," the possum hummed. "Have you ever had a song in your head that you just couldn't get out no matter how hard you try?"

"Shut up," the yeti growled. "Just shut up"

The possum sighed and began to dance around a bit while pinned against the wall. He mimicked some drums in his throat and hummed along to the song in my head.

"This has gone far enough, Pestilence," Skips yelled. "Let Barnaby go, and leave. That's all I'm asking."

Pestilence ignored him and continued to dance around against the wall.

"PESTILENCE!" Skips screamed.

His grip on the possum was thrown aside as a black ooze exploded from the mouth of the possum, and rushed Skips to the opposite side of the room, pinning him on the opposing wall as the ooze solidified. Pestilence closed his mouth, breaking the disgusting substance off with his teeth. He smiled and dance d happily toward the yeti, his feet jumping about.

"_Could a body close the mind down?_" he sung as he approached the yeti. Another bit of black ooze overtook a finger, sharpening and turning into a bladed nail. "_Stitch a seam across the eye,_" he blared as he cut across his own eyelid and danced around. "_If you can be good, you'll live forever. If you're bad, you'll die when you die._"

He hopped over to the yeti and continued to sing his vocals in a broken harmony, using his hosts as his own personal pin cushion. "_Hearing only one true note, I'm the one and only sound._" He grinned evilly as he slit one of possum's wrists with the nail. "_Unzip my body, take my heart out. Can I need a beat to give this tune!_" Upon saying the last verse, claw like arms appear from behind the possum's back and grab the yeti, throwing him across the room back toward the other end of the wall.

The yeti slammed against the concrete and fell to the floor. He looked up to see his enemy still dancing around, showing off the new cuts as they healed in an instant, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. He jumped around from side to side, bringing his hands in the air to the beat in his head and he continued to approach Skips.

"You know," the possum said, breaking away from his song, "I was actually expecting to find you with another 'love of your life'. Kind of surprising to find you by your lonesome this time. Have we given up on loving the mortals, now?"

Skips answered by spitting directly into the possum's eye, in which the the animal spit back a dark sludge that bladed in the air and stabbed itself into Skips cheek. Pestilence laughed and twirled around a few times, resuming his song.

"_Oh, the body swayed to the music! Oh, the lightning glance!_ " he did another spin, slashing at the other wrist this time, and creating a spiral of black and red all around him. The patterns resembled death and sickness in its most perturbing form, mixing into a disgusting brown that would have made any sensible man ill.

Growing bored of the designs he was making, the possum turned to smile heinously at the beast, before taking his own claws and digging them into his own chest. "_I would give it all and all, maybe you would hear me ask for a second chance._" The claws cracked into the possum's sternum, with the disturbing sound of cracking bone, tearing muscle and tissue. "_Hearing only one root note, planted firmly in the ground._"

"STOP IT!" Skips screamed. He couldn't stand to watch the disgusting song and dance Pestilence was jittering around with.

The possessed animal's smirk spread as he pushed the claws away, exposing the open chest cavity. "_Undo my heart, unzip my body, and lend to my ear a clear and deafening sound!_" Blackness and crimson spilled onto the floor with the eyes all blinking along to the imaginary tune. "_And if I need a rhythm, it'll be to my heart I listen, if it don't get me to far wrong._"

Skips always felt the most horrific of fears when this creature was near him. But this? This was just out of control. What was the point of doing this to his own body? Was he trying to make his body useless to him?

"_And if I need a rhythm, it's gonna be to my heart I listen,if I don't take me too far gone,_ " he continued to sing in as evil a tone as he could. He took a few steps toward Skips, flinching at the pain, but continuing his merriment as he did. "_Everybody smile please! Nobody pay no mind to me! Finger in position on the switch, a little flash photography._" He approached Skips, the darkness lifting him up from off the ground and staring at him deathly.

"_Taking a picture of you..._

_Taking a picture of..._

_Taking a picture of me..._

_Taking a picture of..._ "

He opened his mouth wide – wider then any living thing should. The edges of his lips tore apart, as the large eye that was Pestilence resided inside, watching Skips only a few instance from his face. It looked amused as the liquid that was splattered all over the room continued to sway and dance to the imaginary song.

Skips still wondered what it was that he was trying to prove. But then he saw the possum and his eyes. Pestilence had graced him with a moment of lucidity. Tears were streaming down his face as Skips watched him, coming to the realization that made him absolutely sick on the inside: the host could feel every little thing Pestilence was doing to his body. Every stab, every gash, every slash, every crunch, every piece of evisceration that the monster had inflicted on itself.

"_RamaLaMA Bang BAnG_

_fLaSH banG BIG BANG_

_Bing Bong dING dONG_

_dum duM d' dUM DUM_"

It laughed, closing its mouth and returning to control the body. The wounds and gashes began to reverse and heal themselves. The open cavity healed itself up quickly, returning as much of the ooze and blood as it could to the tiny body. Within seconds, the possum's body was healed up completely.

"...sick fuck..." Skips muttered, as he took the black dark out of his cheek.

Pestilence rewarded the statement with additional singing and dancing, as he continued to twirl around the room. "_With a hammer, BANG BANG! FLASH BANG, PRESS GANG! BING BONG, DONG DONG! DUM DUM d' DUM DUM!_" He laughed as he finished the line, finding the entire thing to be hilariously amusing.

He laughter was cut short though as Skips grabbed him and forced him to the floor. "Let him you go, you creep!"

"Let me think about that," Pestilence giggled. "NO!" He quickly overpowered the man and threw him against the freezer door. "Still think you're hot shit, don't ya?"

"And you're still a coward," Skips yelled back. "You have to hide behind the body of a weak and defenseless possum in order to get anything done. It's not like your real form is a prize either. You can barely even lift yourself up when you're nothing but that big gelatinous mess. Face it Pestilence, you're a sham, and always will be.."

This might have been too much for Pestilence to handle as a giant wad of goo escaped the mouth of the possum and accumulates, until it was big enough to handle the form of the eye. It remained connected by the tendril of blackness coming from the possum's heart. The host was once again given another brief moment of lucidity as Pestilence stared down Skips.

"I can end you in the blink of an eye, you narcissistic Adonis."

"No you can't," Skips said with a smirk and shook his head. "You've never been able to end my life. Wasn't that a part of Death and your's bet? And besides, you can't kill me when you're frozen solid!" With that he clasped the handle to the freezer door, and flung it open. He grabbed the giant eyeball and made an attempt to force it through the door, doing his best to squeeze it in. He underestimated the size of Pestilence, and found him stuck in the door.

"REALLY! YOU THOUGHT THAT WOULD WORK!" it screamed, hundreds of knife arms emerging from the tendril connecting it to the host.

"No," Skips grinned slyly.

Pestilence screamed and rushed the hands toward him. But Skips was expecting this, and used the close proximity of the sword like appendages to his advantage, jumping out of the way at the last second. They impaled themselves into the back of their master, tearing at his body and ripping him apart just enough for the yeti to jump back up and ram the back of the creature in the freezer. It rolled inside but quickly recovered itself, going wide with anger and shrieking so loud the ice inside the freezer cracked. But it was too late as Skips knelt down, snapped off the emergency release, and closed the door, snapping the connection to the host body.

Skips looked inside, watching as Pestilence writhed in the cold, freezing almost in an instant. Fire and ice had nearly the exact same effect on the sickness incarnate, freezing him in his tracks. When it was all over, there was a lovely vision of a Pestilence ice sculpture inside, made with real Pestilence. The yeti laughed triumphantly at the sight. He thought about simply leaving him there, but that wouldn't do. The slightest bit of warmth, and that things would thaw out instantly. He never bothered to understand why the hot and cold had such powerful effects on his enemy. He thought it might have something to do with how sickness of any type was sensitive to either. Whatever the reason, it was his advantage against the evil.

He kicked the door with what little anger he had left and looked back to the possum. The animal was already in the process of expelling whatever was left of the creature through the act of vomiting. As long as the main body of Pestilence was subdued, so was any of its little break apart minions. The possum fell onto the ground and shivered like a maniac in fear. His gray coat covered in black, red, and bits of his own sickness.

Skips sighed and looked around the room. The basement was more or less ruined. A combination of black ooze with little bits of blood stained the concrete walls and floors. Then there was the issue with the host here: what was his name?

"Hey, Barnaby," Skips said, shaking the possum.

Barnaby curled up into a ball and continued to shake nonstop. He barely even blinked, keeping to himself, trying to play dead like all good possum's were supposed to do, but was too scared and traumatized to even do that. No words escaped his lips, save for the occasional spit up of Pestilence remains. He needed to be purified, washed, and given back to his loved ones.

Skips did all of thee above, taking Barnaby back to his shack, performing the purifying ritual (that he hadn't needed to use in quite a long time), gave the young man a quick scrub down, and contacted ATRS. Needless to say, when it was alerted to them that one of their major stock holders had been found catatonic, they arrived immediately to pick him up.

The retrieval was kept low key, with only the two other main shareholders picking him up. Skips made up a quick story to the two birds about how he was wondering through the park and found possum against a tree all scared and shivering. Neither bird's believed the story, knowing that something else might have happened. But Barnaby had gone mute and refused to stop shaking. If word got out about this to reporters, the media would have a field day. Connor Wong in particular would relish at the prospect of Maellard's corporation as well as ATRS being involved in some sort of scandal. In the end, they took the possum with them, to which Barnaby held tight to the black vest of his cardinal best friend in fear, and asked no questions beyond that. They seemed to be just happy taking their friend home.

By the time it was all said and done, it was almost ten at night. The shaking thing would not leave Skips mind, calling back memories of the past and the people he could not save. But he was able to save this one, and he was going to make sure that no one had to suffer like that again. Skips had assumed that Benson had just taken Muscle Man and High Five Ghost home, and headed back to his apartment as well. Pops hadn't returned either, giving him the assumption that he probably decided to stay at his father's for the night. This was perfect for Skips. He had the time to do what needed to be done. He collected a pickaxe, a shovel, a couple of wheelbarrows, and a few bags of quick dry cement, and headed back to the basement.

Ice and frost began to crack and melt as Skips threw the frozen creature down his hours of work. Pestilence was still very much aware of his surroundings, but could not move or speak. All he needed was another two minutes to de-thaw and he would be back in the game against Skips. But as he stared up at the yeti, he was greeted with a stern and angry expression that shot down at him with the force of a thousand sharpened arrow heads. The strength and resolve behind Skips rivaled that of an army, ready to die for what they believed in.

Skips scoffed at the creature below him in the hole he created in the basement, and dumped the first wheelbarrow of freshly made cement on top of him. He watched the thick substance to fall and cling onto the frozen surface of the monster, shaking his head as he did so. When that wheel barrow was empty, he dumped the next one over, and then the next one, and then the next.

"Get out of my life," he muttered, as he dumped another one in.

He kept the door to the freezer open, in hopes that the gusting chill would be enough to keep Pestilence in its place. The creature shook and shivered, trying to free itself, but to no avail. Finally, it was almost covered in the quick drying concrete.

It looked up one more time right before Skips was about to pour the last, and gave the yeti an actual look of sympathy. "But she's waiting for me," it pleaded.

The yeti froze in his action and looked down. "So were they," he coldly whispered, and dumped the last bit it on him.

When Pestilence was buried, Skips mixed up one more batch to cover in the sink and even the place out a bit. When that was done, he cleaned up the basement, burning whatever darkness was left and cleaning up the dried blood the best he could. When the room was looking clean and kept again, he turned off the lights and left.

The morning sun was slowly beginning to rise. He could see Benson grumbling, and sleepily walking toward the house, ready to start a new day. He smiled at the gumball machine, and ran out to greet him.

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Maellard looked into the fireplace and watched the flames dance about, popping some ember out as it hit the iron fence. His eyes were heavy from a lack of sleep brought on by the worry of his son. He assumed at first that Pops was most likely dead. But after hearing Skips story, it gave him hope that he might still be alive somewhere. However, while his heart remained in steadfast sprint for his son, his mind was cautious of the tale he had just received. The shock of how that thing got in the basement was one thing, but still not knowing what it was, was another. Skips had completely skirted around the issue, choosing to only tell a vignette of his life, and nothing more. It explained why that creature was under the basement, and why Barnaby took such interest in Maellard's company, but it still didn't tell them anything. He would have liked to have said that he felt a burden lifted from his chest, seeing as how Pestilence was after someone else that wasn't him, but now… with Pops involved, it made everything seem trivial. This whole turn of events was personal.

He looked up above the fireplace and looked at the various photos of him and his son growing up over time. It seemed so long ago, and yet the pictures seemed as if they happened only a week prior, maybe even only a couple of days. The memories of his past flooded his mind as he was reminded of business trips, vacations, infancy, the smiles and laughs… Maellard felt like he was going to cry. His eyes glanced above the pictures and saw the epees hanging overheard, crossed against each other, sheathed in their scabbards. Next to them on a nailed in shelf were fencing trophies that Pops had won when he was only six, and next to that was one that Maellard himself had won in his own adolescence. He smiled at them, but the very idea of unsheathing those blades to get his revenge filled him with unbridled anger.

He turned around to look at the other two residents in the room. Both Skips and Benson sat on opposite ends of the room in comfortable chairs, watching Maellard's reaction to the story Skips had just told. It was the first time he had invited them to his home. But his mind wasn't focused on hospitality. Upon hearing the story the yeti had divulged to him, he only had one thing to say on the subject.

"Skips," he said sternly, "you're fired."

Truthfully, Skips wasn't surprised. In fact, the moment they were asked to his boss's home, he was expecting it to happen. The fact that Maellard hadn't unsheathed one of those swords of his, and wasn't trying to slit the yeti's throat, was nothing short of a testament to the patience Maellard could have for people.

"Also," the man continued, "I'm holding you accountable for my son and accountant's disappearance, and you are not to leave anywhere until this is resolved." He took a few steps forward, kicking his cane in some sort of anger. "And don't take that as an empty threat. I will use all my wealth to hunt you down if I have to – you and Timothy. Do I make myself clear?"

The yeti nodded. He would have liked to escape as far away from there as he could, but he knew Maellard was being sincere. He wouldn't put it past the grieving man to use every little penny to bring the two to justice. In Maellard's eyes, they were both equally responsible for their actions.

"Good," Maellard said harshly. "You're my property until I can figure out what to do. Benson, you're in charge of keeping watch on him. Understand?"

Benson gave Skips a stink eye, wishing as well that he could be far away from the man. He remembered what Skips said, about how Pestilence was after him. His mind was already a mess with all of this new information, and it didn't help matters that the person he hated in the room, he now how to watch. Still, it was good at least. Skips would more than likely try to protect Benson if that thing hunted them down. He nodded and accepted the new responsibility without hesitation.

"Good," Maellard repeated. "Now if there aren't any other questions – and there better not be – leave. I need to be alone to think about things."

Benson agreed. He wanted to be alone in the silence of his thoughts as well, even if he wasn't going to be physically by himself. He motioned Skips to follow him, and coldly lead the yeti away from the room. They left without saying so much as a word, and trotted outside the mansion, back to the golf cart where they sped off quickly.

Benson pressed down on the acceleration as hard as he could, trying to focus some of that anger that had pent up in his gears into something less violent. The cart fluttered by the scenery, a cool wind blowing against them as they left the high class neighborhoods and entered back into the city. He had his hands so tightly wound on the steering wheel, he was almost afraid it might break off. He couldn't remember a time in which he had been this infuriated with someone. He couldn't even remember a time where he had been this scared either. All the creatures that came from the park always brought about some life threatening consequences to the staff, but it was never anything to truly get worried about. But here? Benson's life was actually in danger. There was an actual high probability that he was going to die from this, and he wasn't even aware of this until just recently. He felt sick just trying to rationalize it. Every second left him annoyed and paranoid of what could happen next. When was he going to strike? How long would this tortuous wait last? How was he going to get him? These questions were being asked so fast that Benson was having trouble telling one from the next.

But he remained quiet all the while, refusing to even ask a single thing to the yeti. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to trust Skips anymore. Everything he knew about him felt like one giant conspiracy made to give off the impression that Skips was a nice guy, and never kept any secrets that could have been life threatening to his friends. Boy, how wrong they all were, Benson thought. He should have seen it coming. His life was getting more ransacked by the week, and this was just the absolute top of it all. He couldn't understand how it could get any worse.

Benson thought about taking Skips back to his shack and just staying there with the yeti, but that place was not comfortable for the gumball machine. Besides, he felt better in his own home, especially with some warm and comfortable blankets. His body was on fire from a lack of sleep, and his mood wasn't making things any easier. He pulled the cart up to his apartment complex and jumped out. Skips followed along without so much as a squeak. They walked into the building, up the stairs, up to the door into Benson's apartment, and entered it with a stamp.

Benson's anger flourished as he threw the keys to the golf cart against the wall, causing a small crack to form in the paint. He didn't turn on any lights, he didn't get a snack or something to drink, and he didn't do any bedtime rituals. He simply locked the door, walked into his bedroom, crawled under the sheets, and pulled them over his head. He laid there for a few minutes, pushing as much out of his mind as he could in favor of sleep. Unfortunately, he was still too caught up in Skips' story and all these new and unanswered questions.

A knock on the bedroom doorframe broke Benson's concentration, and he sat up, with the covers still over his head. He pulled them off and found Skips standing in the door way.

"What do you want?" Benson snapped.

Skips gulped and looked down at the floor. It had been a very long time since he had felt guilt like this. He thought the actions he chose might have actually helped him and his friends this time. "Listen Benson, I'm sorry about…"

"Shut up!" the gumball machine screamed. "Just shut up, cause I don't wanna hear it. This is beyond irresponsible, Skips. This wasn't some stupid thing like Mordecai and Rigby pull. Actual people's lives are on the line, and you knew about it. If Maellard hadn't fired you, I would have. So don't stand there and try to apologize for something you knew could have helped us if you had only told us earlier. You screwed up! So just leave me alone!" He dropped down onto his mattress again and pulled the sheets over him.

Skips stood there in silence, the lump in his throat returning with a vengeance. His hands were shaking as he listened to Benson's icy words, and he felt like his body was trying to tear itself away from him. He slid down against the doorframe to the floor and remained there. "I was… I was only trying to protect you," he said to Benson.

"I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!" The voice shook the room, and caused an upstairs neighbor to bang on the floor. Benson ignored it, and returned to his attempt to try and find sleep. He hoped that the yeti would wise up and go in the other room or something.

He didn't leave though. He just sat there in the doorframe, watching Benson angrily try to sleep, tossing and turning for the good part of an hour. Finally, when it seemed hopeless, the machine was finally able to fall asleep. Skips listened as his movements became less sporadic, and the ticking of his gears slowed down substantially. The only sounds then were the soft sighs of Benson locked in deep slumber.

Skips remained in his seat for the rest of the night, watching him closely as well as his surroundings. The urge to protect the man was still strong in his gut, and he refused to let up on it. It was why he didn't leave back at the park. He couldn't quite explain it, but it was a need that had to be fulfilled. His hands were still shaking, and his eyes seemed heavy and tired. But throughout the rest of the night, he continued to watching the sleeping figure. Pestilence would not get through him this time. He had lost too much to allow his old "friend" the pleasure of taking away his joy again.

The sun eventually rose up, and Benson remained in his sleep well past the time to wake up. Skips didn't even bother trying to wake him up in time for work. He deserved the sleep he got. It was going to be a very hectic few days, the yeti thought.

**Ramalama (Bang Bang)** - _Roisin Murphy_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Lots of action and drama in this chapter, eh? Not much else to say on that, other than this was one of the most fun chapters to write simply for all the cameos. Barnaby, the two birds, Maxine, and Amy are OCs owned by friends of mine (_Nope_ and _Waifu_), and I thought I'd honor them by torturing their characters just a little bit. I know one is already a tragic character, as for the others, well... let's hope he doesn't beat me up too much. Seriously though, I love the OCs they created. They're extremely well rounded and likeable.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	23. What the Water Gave Me

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**What the Water Gave Me**

As usual with these things, the phone rang, waking Benson up from his dreamless slumber. At this point, he was wondering why he even had an alarm clock when he was just going to be woken up this early anyways from some sort of other thing. Then he realized that the sun was already high, and that it must have been late morning. His eyes shot to the clock and found it reading past eleven o'clock. His attention shifted to Skips, still against the doorframe, looking over at the woken gumball machine.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked angrily, as he took the phone off its hook. "This is Benson," he said into it.

"Where are you guys?" pondered the gruff voice of Muscle Man over the phone. "Fives and I have been waiting around for like, hours." The sound of the ghostly spirit's agreement could be heard in the background.

Benson groaned and rubbed his eyes. "It's a long story," he said, eying Skips intently. "I don't think I'll be coming in today. You guys are in charge. You already know what needs to be done, so pass that along to Mordecai and Rigby."

"Wait, bro," Muscle Man interjected, "you mean the losers aren't with you?"

Benson hesitated and then let out another annoyed groan. "You mean they aren't there!"

"No, bro," the other end answered. "I told you already: it's just Fives and I right now. I don't think we can do all the work in the park by our selves."

The gumball machine fell back onto the bed with the phone still to his head, and let out a sigh. "I guess I'll try to get there as soon as possible. Give me a couple of minutes to get cleaned up. You guys just go work on something until I get there okay?"

"And what about Skips?" Muscle Man asked. "Is he coming too?"

"Skips was fired," Benson blankly said. Upon saying it out loud, he felt a sort of guilt nibble on his insides. It was weird coming to terms with the fact that he might never work with the yeti again like that. However, he was still in charge of keeping an eye at him at all times, and his anger still persisted from the night before.

"What did you say, bro?" the green man asked in an unbelievable tone.

"I told you, it's a long story," Benson continued. "Just go do your thing, and I'll be there shortly. I'll even treat you guys to lunch or something. Is that alright?"

"Whatever," Muscle Man chided. His day obviously wasn't going as planned. But then again, most people's days would be shot if they found out the hardest worker got fired, one employee forgot to show up, and two others just didn't show up at all. "I'll see you when you get here." The line went dead after that.

Benson put the phone back on the hook, and sat up. He placed his feet on the floor, and gripped the mattress in shear aggravation and anger. He hadn't felt this bad in a long time, and the fact that he had to babysit the reason for his anger didn't help matters much. The very thought of dealing with Skips today made his blood boil and heart race rapidly with dread. The last time he had felt like committing actual murder like this was when Veronica dumped him, and looking back, knowing what he knew now, he felt pretty bad about thinking it.

"C'mon," Benson announced as he rose from the bed, "it looks like you get to see the park again after all." He walked past Skips and headed toward the bathroom to take care of his morning rituals as he usual did. He stepped onto the cold tile of the room and noticed he wasn't alone. He stared out the door and looked over to the yeti, still in the same position he was left in, with his back turned to the gumball machine. "Just stay there a bit while I take a quick shower." He shook his head and began to close the door, only for it to be swung right open and the yeti stepping inside.

Skips came into the room and investigated his surroundings. He looked at the sink, and turned it on, watching the water rush out. Then he checked the tile cracks, and made sure that nothing was hidden inside. Finally, he flushed the commode and saw it running as clockwork. Most everything seemed to be in place. When he finished, he found a nice wall to lean against, and slid down it till he was sitting on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Benson asked.

"Making sure you don't get killed," the beast snapped, almost angry at him. "Now take your shower so I can get you to work, alright?"

Benson frowned at the sudden lashes of his former coworker and nearly laughed at the audacity of it. "Are you kidding me?" he said, sarcastically smiling. "You're angry at me now? When did that happen?"

The other man grumbled something to himself and looked away from Benson. "Shouldn't you be taking your shower? The longer you sit here and talk with me, the longer Muscle Man and High Five Ghost have to wait."

"And you honestly expect me to take a shower with you in the same room?" Benson laughed.

"You're already nude, Benson," Skips commented. "It's not like I'd be seeing much."

He had a point, but that was completely beside it. It was still creepy as all hell to have someone watch you shower, especially when it was someone who you absolutely despised at that moment. But Benson needed to hurry up and get his rituals done, and soon. He shrugged at the man and turned the shower faucet on. He noticed the sudden twitch from Skips, as the water came rushing out. Benson chuckled. He wondered if Skips was expecting black sickness to jump out of the spout.

As usual, the water refused to warm up, but Benson was in a hurry so he jumped on in and let the icy chill overtake him. He wrapped one arm around himself, and then reached for the soap with another. His teeth began to clank together as his body temperature dropped drastically. He'd only be able to take that for another couple of minutes before it starts to affect his inner workings.

"Heh heh," Skips chuckled to himself.

Benson snapped his head over to Skips direction to meet with the yeti's laughter. "And this is funny to you!" he snapped. "I'm sorry if the fact that my body doesn't handle hot or cold very well bothers you. If you want, I can stay in here until my body begins to shut down, would you like that?"

That shut Skips up in a heartbeat. The yeti quickly retracted his joyful expression and looked away sullenly.

Benson gritted his teeth and quickly soaped his body up, washing it off no more than the moment it went on. After about two minutes, he turned the water off, grabbed the towel hanging over the curtain bar and jumped out. Within another minute, he had a toothbrush in his mouth and was finishing up drying the water off his body. Skips watched him move like clockwork, surprised by how smooth the transitions were.

When it was all said and done, Benson got Skips up off the floor and they exited the bathroom together. There was barely any time for breakfast, so the machine took some toaster pastries out of the cabinet, handed one to his accomplice, and got ready to escape the apartment to work. He reached out to the front door, but stopped halfway. Something was itching at his brain, and he wanted to find out what it was.

"What's wrong?" Skips asked.

Benson didn't answer him. He instead moved past the man, and reached out for the phone by his chair. He picked it up and dialed some numbers. He wasn't sure why the thought had suddenly occurred to him. It was more of a curiosity that needed to be filled before he could continue on with his day. It would put at least a little of his mind at ease.

The line on the other end began to ring. He wondered if she would pick up, or if maybe…

The line clicked as someone picked up the receiver.

"Hello? Margaret's phone," said a surprisingly male voice on the other end. It was kind of high, and very nervous, but also filled with smug self-righteousness. Benson knew it.

"Well at least I found one of the two of you," Benson said into the line. He could hear Mordecai gasp in surprise.

"Benson!" he exclaimed, being caught with his hands red. "Look, I know that we have work and everything today, but Margaret and I got so caught up in our date, and Rigby and his dad are at the hospital asking questions about what happened to Don, and things just sort of happened…"

Well that explained where Rigby was at least.

"It's fine, Mordecai," Benson said as calmly as he could. "I don't care. Muscle Man, High Five Ghost, and I will take care of things at the park. I think I'm more mad that you guys didn't call us."

"Sorry," the bird apologized. "We were planning to go meet Rigby at the hospital with Eileen and try to figure out what happened together anyways. We really were going to call you…"

No they weren't, Benson thought to himself.

"…but a lot of stuff just happened is all."

"I see," the man said with no care in his voice. He was interested in something else though. "What are you doing at Margaret's?"

"Ummm… nothing."

That horribly shy tone in his voice suggested otherwise. Until proven differently, Benson was going to assume things worked out for the better between the two of them and they had "fun" last night after they left the shop.

"Well, whatever happened," Benson laughed, "tell Margaret to call me at the park sometime today. I need to talk to her about some things… and to vent a bit." He turned around and glared at the yeti, who looked away again. Apparently, Skips didn't want to be looked at today.

"I'll do that Benson," Mordecai stuttered a bit, hoping Benson didn't assume things.

"Thanks." And with that, Benson hung up the phone without even so much as a goodbye to Mordecai. He was still in hurry as it was. "C'mon Skips; let's get going!" He motioned his head in the direction of the front door, and they headed right out.

To say that the cart ride to the park was awkward would have been an understatement. There was so much tension between the two men it could be cut with an axe, with more than enough remnants left over to feed a whole city worth of anger and embarrassment. Skips sat in the backseat, with his head looking out into the passing blur of the city, while Benson kept his eyes straight ahead on the road, thinking of everything that had happened and will certainly come in the future.

He smiled slightly though when he thought about how things were beginning to work out for Margaret. It may not have been the story book romance she hoped it would start out to be, but there was something there that Benson knew was good. He had this feeling that the two of them were going to work out just fine. Their relationship might end up a little bumpy, but that was to be expected from any relationship. Their personalities matched up well enough, and both of them seemed willing to give it try, though it threw Mordecai for a loop there. Of course, Benson was thinking through it all with a black and white perspective. Things may not work out, but for now, he was going to be optimistic about the pair.

He looked up at the rear view window and at Skips. He wasn't sure what to think of this man anymore. He had lied to them, and just being around him endangered everyone. He kept going back to those thoughts as well as the story that Skips told him. There was a strangeness about it that Benson understood, but something else that just didn't seem right. Benson never took Skips as a violent person, or one to hold a grudge even. So why Pestilence in particular?

They arrived at the park no sooner after that, their moods still angrily persisting. Muscle Man and High Five Ghost didn't ask much of what was going on besides what Skips was doing there if he got fired.

"Maellard fired him okay? And that's all you need to know." Benson snipped. "Here's what I need you two to do."

He gave them their chores and sent them on their way, keeping the exchange of words to as little as he possibly could. When they were scattered about, they all went and did the work they were assigned to, save for Skips who sat on the sidelines the entire time watching Benson try to do his work load.

"Let me help you with that," Skips said, trying to take the hoe away from Benson. He was quickly slapped away and given an unruly expression.

"I can take of this myself, Skips," he yelled at him. "I can do all of these chores without your help so just leave me alone while I do my work." He brought the tool down, and brought some dirt up. He then tossed some grass seed in, and pushed the dirt back over it. He refused to even look at Skips, knowing full well he'd only see an upset expression from the hulking figure. He may have been mad at him, but he still hated seeing that face.

"I'm only trying to help out, Benson," Skips replied back. "You don't need to do everything by yourself, ya know. Even if I don't work here anymore, I still don't mind helping out a little bit."

"Well, you're not on the payroll anymore," the machine yelled. "I don't care if you help out of the kindness of your heart. I don't like accepting charity, especially for hard work around the park." What he said made no sense. At that point, he was just trying to argue for the sake of arguing.

Skips saw right through this and rolled his eyes. "I'm bored, okay? I just wanted to do something to pass the time. If I'm gonna be babysat, I might as well do something to occupy myself." His own excuses didn't sound any better than Benson's. It was almost pathetic to listen to the two of them skirt around the subject.

Benson couldn't take it. "Who's babysitting you?" he countered. "I don't see anybody around here with a leash. I don't see anybody here keeping a close eye on you."

"Oh gee, I didn't know that. I guess I'll just go along my merry little way then," Skips laughed with great sarcasm.

"Why don't you?" Benson asked.

Skips was taken a back by his question.

"Why don't you just leave?" Benson asked again. "I don't really care if you leave or stay to be honest. I'm just watching you because Maellard made it my job, and you know my job is pretty much the only good thing I got left going for myself. If you up and go, I can't be held accountable for it. I'll just say that you beat me up or something, and Maellard will yell at me, I'll probably lose my job, and then that's it. I can't argue with anything else that man throws at me, let only the excuses and lies you keep chucking in my direction. I'm still going to try and get Don and Pops back even if that were to happen, which is more than I can say for you. I don't see why I have to sit here and watch you when you're not going to help us at all."

"That's right Skips; I know you aren't going to help us," he continued, bringing the hoe down again. "You're just going to wander around with me, trying to protect me from something that's been kidnapping our friends, and not tell me why it would want to come after me in first place. You'll just keep quiet and watch everyone you care about disappear until finally, you'll disappear to somewhere else too. Maybe you can go to some tropical paradise, or some war torn country, or the ruins of Ooo for all I care about. But don't sit there and act all surprised when I say I don't care if you stay or leave. You brought this on yourself, and you know it.

He gripped the handle of the tool so hard, he could swear it was beginning to splinter in his hands. "You're only still around because you feel guilty for the things you brought on everyone. You know, you could have put that thing in the basement and just left. But no, instead you stayed here to keep working at the park and put everyone's lives in danger. You didn't tell a single soul about it and hoped that everything would work out in the end. Well guess what Skips? It didn't. So why stick around even when the damage is already done. You obviously don't care about me. You're only still here because of your guilt for bringing this on us. So tell me, why even bother, Skips? Why?"

He huffed some breath out through his nose and continued to hoe the field, sowing the seeds for the oncoming summer. He continued to refuse to even glance in Skips' direction, and let work preoccupy his time. Inside though, he felt like he had not only betrayed his friend but also his own mind as well. There were times when Benson got angry enough to go on a tangent like that, but it was usually to prove a point. People got over it in time, and life continued as it always did. But this time, he was mortified at himself for even saying such things. He felt bad about everything. He needed to apologize, but his body refused him the honor. Finally, he sighed, and turned his head slightly to try and get the yeti into view.

But Skips was gone.

He stood there motionless, staring into the empty space that the yeti had been originally. There was still a distinct aura of him around there, and it continued to linger for a few seconds until it too faded away. When Benson was sure he was alone, he continued his job, and hoed the fields. For some reason, his body couldn't react negatively to what he had done. He had fallen into a comfortable numbness, his conflicting emotions forming a truce while keeping the disturbing emotions within him. Nothing seemed to be cooperating with him. So he continued to work, and think only of nothing.

Time passed, and lunch came not too soon afterwards. Benson didn't feel like leaving the park for lunch, choosing instead to go for the random taco shack that had set up its shop in the outskirts, nearby Muscle Man and High Five Ghosts home. He didn't get anything though, and instead handed off his charge card to the duo while they got themselves some food and mingled with the crowd surrounding the little food trailer. Benson sat off in the distance with his back leaning against a tree, watching the people walk by.

His mind held nothing inside of it. After exploding like that, he literally couldn't even think. He knew who he was, and what he was doing, and what needed to be done, but those were simply basic ideals that anybody had. His emotions were shot, and any thoughts he had about the situation involving Pestilence or anything like that were dashed away in favor for work. His body and mind were doing their best to try and shut out the world and everything in it. It was trying to readjust Benson back into his rut, and while it was successful to some extent, it barely got the job done. He could still feel that stabbing in his mind behind all the numbness. It told him that he was finished. There was no other way to word it.

He could sit there all day and think about going home, and going to bed, and repeating the same thing he had done everyday, but it wouldn't work. The motions would be the same, but the actions themselves would be completely different. The park wouldn't feel the same without Pops or Skips. God only knows who Maellard would hire to eventually replace them. Not only that, but it wouldn't take long for the rest of the staff to blame Benson for the disappearances and Skips termination. What was even the point? He could fool himself into believing he could go back to that all he wanted, but in the end, he was going to be caught up in something entirely different – entirely deadly.

Benson could only saw this ending in one of two ways: he was either going to be overtaken by an angry Pestilence, or the emotional trauma would eventually catch up to him and he would go and do who knows what to himself. He remembered when he was curled up on the park floor, and wished for everything to end. Now he was like that again, and he couldn't even feel anything with it. He didn't want to burden anyone with the information either. He just wanted things to stop; for himself to stop.

He heard the rustling of the grass behind him, and felt another figure slide down next to him. He didn't even need to look next to him to know exactly who it was.

"I see you came back," Benson sighed.

Skips grunted as he scooted in closer to Benson. "I got halfway out of the city when I turned around. There was something I needed to do."

"Still feeling guilty?" Benson asked, the anger in his voice rising again.

Skips didn't answer. He knew if he said anything more on the subject, he would have just been egged on by Benson even further. The machine already had a lot on his plate already, and didn't need excuses to help him feel better.

"I wanted to tell you something," Skips added.

"Yeah? Well I don't want to hear it," Benson said, raising his voice. "You can't make up your mind whether you want to come or go, so why should I even listen to you? You might just stop talking mid-sentence and run off again."

"It's really important," Skips continued. "So please, just listen to me for a bit."

"I don't want to," Benson said childishly. "I don't know if I can even trust your judgment anymore. I don't even know if you're telling the truth even."

"I am telling the truth," Skips went on.

"I still don't think-"

"BENSON!" Skips screamed as loud as he could. "WOULD YOU JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME FOR JUST A FEW MINUTES!"

His screams caught the attention of everyone in the surrounding area. Even Muscle Man and HFG stopped their discussion with two fine young ladies to look at his direction. The place was silent and suddenly uncomfortable for a lot of people. The groups around them all packed up and left – even the taco vendor. But Benson nor Skips seemed to notice.

Benson nearly fell to his side from the scream. He was almost afraid Skips was going to hurt him to go along with the ferocity of his voice. He didn't have anything to say to counter that.

When Skips was sure that he was given the floor to speak, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Back when it came out of the basement the first time, a few weeks ago… you asked if I was frightened, and I told you no." He shook his head and folded his hands over his legs. "Truth is, Benson, that I was absolutely terrified of that thing. And when I saw it attack you and break your head… I just… froze. I think for a split second, I thought you were dead. And then when I saw you twitching and writhing on the ground, I just lost it. I wanted it dead. I was so scared for you after that, but I didn't want you to know that. And I didn't want you to know that it really was my fault that you got hurt. I wanted to tell you, but I was too afraid you wouldn't like me anymore. I was being selfish, I know. I don't deserve your forgiveness. You were right. I deserve everything you said." He sighed and picked himself up from off the ground. "That's all I really wanted to tell you. I'll leave you alone now."

"So you lied to me again?" Benson said immediately afterwards.

"I guess I did," Skips replied. He turned around and began to skip away from Benson once more. This time, he knew he wasn't going to come back. He prayed and hoped that his self exile would be enough to lure Pestilence away from the park and everyone else.

Benson gritted his teeth and picked himself up from off the ground. "You didn't need to lie to me about that!" he screamed. "I would have felt better if you had told me you were scared too. You never tell me these things!" His fist curled and he slammed it against the tree. "You never tell me anything about yourself!"

Skips stopped and waited for him to finish.

"Every time I try to get to know you better, you shrug me off, or give me some sad little depressed look that makes me feel guilty about even bringing it up. I'm sorry you've lived a hard life, okay? But I just want..." he stifled his words, almost afraid to say anything else. "I just want you to be honest with me, okay? You tell me I should trust you, but you've barely given me any reason to. I mean… why do I have to be constantly pushed away from you. I try to be open and honest with you, why can't you do the same with me?"

He looked on at Skips and eagerly awaited an answer. He wasn't expecting one though. Somehow, he knew that through it all, Skips would retain his usual cold and monotone expression and simply shrug it off like he always did.

"When I met you," Skips sighed, "you had just lost your friend, right?"

Dave popped into Benson's head, and he did his best not to let it ruin the conversation. "Yeah, what of it?"

"Well," the yeti continued, "when I met you, I was still in the middle of trying to get away from something. A couple of decades before I met you, I had just finished burying my daughter in the ground. I was barely at the funeral, only there to help with the burial. I didn't even say a eulogy or wish her lover well." His own fists clenched up as he spoke of it. "Do you want to know why?" He quickly spun around, rage covered all over his face. "It was because I was afraid he was there!"

He took a few steps toward Benson, his nose almost puffing out steam in anger. "And before that," he said, "I had to bury her mother, who up and left me after giving me my daughter. Pestilence got her too. And before that, I had a wife and two sons, and he got them too, as well as their surrounding families. And then before that, it was my army battalion, wiped out in an instant by his plague. And then before that, my husband of six years, by enfluenza. Before that an adopted son who Pestilence saw fit to drag him into the middle of a desert and leave him there to die. A FUCKING FOUR YEAR OLD BOY!"

Benson took a step away from the incoming yeti, but Skips would see none of that. He was grabbed by the arms and slammed against the tree. The force of it knocked some leaves out the branches and caused them to slowly crumble to the ground.

"You want to know my life, Benson! YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO I AM!"

Benson shook his head. He really didn't want to know who Skips was anymore. He didn't even want to know Skips at all at that point.

"I'm someone who's had to watch every single person he ever loved ripped away from him by the same damned creature most of my life. I'm someone who's lived so long that he's seen wars and places that people only think are story book fairy tales. I'm someone who's been offered a mantle as a god of war, and turned it down so many times, I can't remember. I'm someone who has to watch everyone I know die around me, whether I know them or not. I'm someone who doesn't want to talk about himself, because every time I do, I want to go and kill myself, but I can't!"

"I'm sorry," Benson pleaded in fear, "I didn't mean anything wrong by it! I didn't mean to make you upset."

"People like you never understand anything about immortals," Skips continued to scream, tightening his grip on Benson. "What would you know about the shit I've had to go through my whole life, huh? What do you got that could possibly be more life changing?"

"Please stop, Skips," Benson continued to beg. "You're hurting me."

"And I still forgive you!" Skips rampaged. "I forgive you, no matter how many times you ask, or how many things you say, or anything you even do. Why do I have to forgive you so many times? I can't stop doing it!" He squeezed down as hard he could. If he moved his hands even slightly at that point, he'd snap the metal off of Benson.

His sight peered away from Benson, looking left and right, as if afraid something was coming for him. "If I yell and scream at you," he whispered in panic, "maybe he'll leave you alone. Maybe if it looks like I hate you, he'll go away and you'll be safe." His voice was leaving him, and his body was beginning to shake, not from anger, but from fear.

Benson flinched from the pain, but watched as Skips emotional walls slowly eroded. He wasn't sure the exact words to say, but did his best to think of something.

"Skips, please," he whimpered. "Please. I really like you. You and Pops are really the only people I could really call friends. I don't want to see you like this. So please…"

The beast looked directly into his eyes, and felt an undeniable feeling of empathy from the gumball machine. He didn't seem angry at him anymore. No, what was there were the tired but friendly eyes he had found from Benson the first time he met him. They were still stressed and filled with sadness from his past, but they made him feel safe, much like the rest of those he tried to protect in his life. He was afraid of failing him. He didn't want to fail him.

Skips took a deep breath and slowly let up off Benson, allowing him to step on the ground once more. He took a few steps back, and gave the gumball machine some space to breath.

Benson grunted as he rubbed the sore areas, and tried to keep his own panic and worry to a minimum. If both of them ended up in a state, nothing would get solved and the two of them would only devolve into senseless arguments and roundabout uneasiness.

"Okay," Benson mumbled in a deep breath. "Okay. Let's both calm down. We're both adults, and we can discuss this without either one of us losing our grips on reality, right?"

"I shouldn't be doing this," Skips immediately followed up.

Benson quizzically tilted his head and asked, "What are you talking about?"

The yeti shook his head and dropped onto the ground, sitting cross legged on the earth at his feet. "I shouldn't be doing the same thing over and over and over in my life, but I just can't stop doing it. I promised myself that this time was going to be different, and it's just happening again and again."

"What are you talking about?" Benson asked him as he too knelt down to the earth. "What keeps happening again and again?"

"You!" Skips exclaimed. "And everyone else! I shouldn't be doing this all the time. It just leaves me alone, heartbroken, and trying to find a new place to live with a new identity. I shouldn't be getting back into this stupid rut, but here I am, talking with you, worried about you, and just terrified about what might happen to you."

Benson rolled his eyes at the sappiness and slammed his palms onto the grass. "I can take care of myself, Skips! I'm not a little machine anymore."

"But you can't!" the yeti countered. "Not this time… not with him." His hands began to tremble as he thought of the mess he's caused. "He'll get you, just like he got all the others. And then he'll laugh in my face, letting me live another day of loneliness."

Benson groaned angrily and rested his hands on his legs. "So what then? Pestilence just goes around following you for all eternity, killing all your loved ones? What did you do to have him do that?"

Skips glared at the man of metal, and gave off the briefest of shrugs.

"You seriously don't know?" Benson yelled. "So what, he's just going around killing the people you care for just for the hell of it? Nobody is that sadistic, right?" He followed this up with a nervous smile. He already knew the answer to that question, but didn't want to hear it. Benson just wanted to pretend he hadn't the slightest of clues.

Skips curved his eyebrows angrily, and gritted his teeth. The very thought of that man was enough to bring the beast close to the edge. "Of all the things this park has shown us, you're asking if anybody is that sadistic? He's definitely high on the list. I don't want him hurting anybody else. I'm sorry, Benson, but there's a good chance we may never be able to save Pops and Don."

Benson didn't want to hear that, especially when he knew that was wrong. "But what about that possum guy in your story? What was his name? Barnaby? You were able to save him, right?"

"I was lucky," Skips muttered. "I don't know if I'd be able to accomplish that twice, let alone three times."

"But there's still a chance," Benson complained. "As long as we got that chance, we can still save them!"

"Why do you even care?" Skips asked coldly. "Why do you suddenly care now about people who you've cursed about repeatedly behind my back? You've complained about Pops' childish behavior, as well as Don's clinginess, so I don't get why you want to save them. Is your job really that important to you?"

Benson's eye twitched in anger, and he brought his fist up to attack the yeti. But it never came down onto him through. It just remained in the air, shaking feverishly, wishing to bring suffering to the person it was aimed at. Skips' expression didn't change, even as he watched the fist tremble in ready. Eventually though, it went limp, and returned to Benson's side. The gumball machine let out a violently angry scream and tried his best to stare down the yeti.

"TO HELL WITH MY JOB!" he screamed as loud as he could. "THOSE PEOPLE ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT ME, AND I'LL BE DAMNED IF I'M GONNA LET ANYMORE OF MY FRIENDS DIE BECAUSE OF ME! SO IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT, I SUGGEST YOU JUST GET UP AND LEAVE NOW!"

His words were like needles to the yeti's heart. In truth, Skips actually did want to leave, however…

"I can't leave," Skips sighed. "I just… can't leave."

"WHY!" Benson continued to shout. "What's so important that you have to just stick around here for the sheer hell of it, act like a baby, and refuse to help any of us when we need it?"

Skips looked up at Benson and simply watched him. His eyes were soft but broken as he looked into the gumball machine's angry visage. He should have been angry, should have been scared even, should of wanted to smack Benson around. But instead, he smiled at him, making it seem as though everything would be alright.

It caught Benson off guard, and broke apart the rage that had been forming up in Benson's gears. The machine watched, memorizing the face and noticing a sense of familiarity about it. Veronica gave him that look once, as did Don and Margaret. It was wanting and sincere. It told him that as long as they were around, he could have the strength to accomplish any goal he set his mind to.

The realization hit him hard, and caused his gears to stop for a split second.

"Are you in love with me, Skips?" Benson finally asked in a slow tone.

The smile was lost on Skips, and he looked away shyly. The way his body was positioned and placed, it almost made him look like a love starved child, hoping to hear the right answer when confessing to a classmate. "I'm… curious," he rasped. "I shouldn't like you that way, but… I can't help it. I look at you, and I get curious as to how you work, and what's inside your body, and how is it that you even live, and how long you can stay alive, and just a bunch of other things I guess. I don't know if you could call it love, but there's definitely something there. I don't think you could call any of my other flings or ties love either."

He paused looking up at Benson so he could get a better understanding of the reaction. Sure enough, Benson was giving him an odd sort of confusion with his head twisted into uncertainty, and his fingers clinging at the grass.

"I don't get mortals," he continued, "which is really strange since I used to be one. I have trouble adapting to everything new in the world, and yet you're able to do it in a matter of days. You fall in and out of love so easily and quickly, that it boggles my mind how you do that. You know how everything is already, while I feel like I have to know everything. I've tried doing the whole relationship thing a bunch of times. I told you: I've had boyfriends, and girlfriends, and husbands, and wives, and children, and friends, and everything, but I don't get them. I'm curious about things like love. But I don't understand them. And just when I do get to understand them, it's taken away from me, and I'm left curious again.

"It's like when I was having to bury my daughter, Maxine. I was crying, but I didn't understand why. I didn't understand fatherhood, or if I was doing the right things to be a good father to her or any of my past children for that matter. And yet, I know that I cry at sad movies, or during the bowling championship a few months back, or seeing you and the staff hurt. I don't know, is there something wrong with me? Is this something that all parents and lovers are supposed to know immediately, or am I just… wrong?"

The expression on his face was asking for a legitimate answer from the gumball machine, and Benson wasn't sure if the answer he had was right or not. Still, he shook his head and tried his best.

"I don't think that's something anyone can learn, Skips," Benson began. "I sure has hell don't know how to be a good lover, or a friend even. Like you, the moment I get something close to that, I've had something come and take it away before I even get to it. Veronica up and left me for 'your friend' and Dave was killed because I lead him to believe something dangerous was fun. So I don't think you're wrong, Skips. I just think it's something that maybe nobody really knows how to learn or even understand. Then again, I could be wrong too." He laughs as he scratches the back of his dome with uncertainty.

Skips nodded. He wasn't certain about the answer either, but continued to listen to his friend as he always did. His darted around in thought as he wondered about the possibilities. They pondered into the past on the things he learned, and he marveled at all the people he had met that actually told him the same thing Benson had just said. Part of him wanted to believe that maybe there were things around that could not be explained no matter how hard a person tried to understand. But his rational mind made it difficult to believe that. He looked into Benson's somewhat worried face and began to crawl toward it.

Benson leaned back slightly, seeing the hulking figure come closer to him. Usually, he didn't mind Skips coming closer and sitting next to him. But something about the aura that the creature was giving off put Benson on the edge of his seat.

"Skips what are you…?"

The gumball machine was grabbed by his shoulders and gently led to the ground. Skips loomed over him, his massive upper body combined with the shade from the leaves, blotted out the sun above Benson. He looked up at the man, who in turn looked down longingly. No words were exchanged between the two – even when Skips leaned in and kissed Benson.

Skips kept himself from crushing Benson, holding the gumball machine's shoulder with one arm, and keeping his balance with the other arm planted firmly on the ground. He gently brought himself down to feel the cold chassis of the machine, shivering at first, but adapting to the cool metal of his body. It felt exotic and foreign, like nothing he had ever experienced with past lovers. All the others were flesh and blood, prone easily to frailty from easily broken bones and flesh. But Benson wasn't as easily broken down, even when Skips allowed a majority of his weight down on him.

Benson didn't it mind it actually. That surprised even himself. He could feel Skips slowly coming down upon him, but just let it happen. The warm flesh on his structure was soothing and soft, like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. The weight actually added to this – so much so that Benson could actually feel the yeti's heartbeat against him.

The kiss itself was nothing special. It was just a simple little press of the lips. If there was a shock from it, it hadn't caught up to Benson yet. Something about it just felt nice, and friendly. He didn't feel any particular romantic feelings from it, but he did feel understanding and compassion for him. It was broken away a second later as Skips lifted his head up slightly, gazing into the man's eyes.

"Well?" Benson asked.

Skips smiled. "I guess I do have a thing for you."

Benson chuckled at him and wanted to say something as well along those lines. He had never really thought about it before, but there was something about the two of them that just seemed to fit into place. Maybe it wasn't romantic or loving, but there was something there. Maybe curiosity? But still…

He slowly pushed Skips from off him, both of them setting back up onto the grass. The smile that had come from his chuckle slowly faded away as he stood up and looked down at Skips. He gulped the lump in his throat, turned around and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Skips asked.

"I need some time to think," Benson replied. "I need to think about all of this for a bit."

Skips didn't like the sound of that. It meant uncertainty and confliction. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Benson stopped and tried to clear his ever racing thoughts to try and talk with the yeti about things. He tried to turn around to face him, but his conscious was holding him back again. His body suddenly felt heavy and broken, though he could still feel the cogs turning inside him.

"Listen Skips," he started, "a lot has happened these past couple of weeks, and I'm still trying to process everything. And then with you telling me about Pestilence, and then you wanting to protect me, and being 'curious' about me – I don't know how to feel about that. My head hurts more than you can imagine right now, and I don't think there's an end to it in sight. I'm more worried about getting Don and Pops back more than anything else right now. Whatever else there is, is going to have to wait."

"Like my feelings for you?" Skips added.

Benson curled his fists into a ball and closed his eyes. A great sorrow was sweeping over him, and he was doing his best to try and not lose his grip again. "I don't think I can give them back, Skips. I think maybe, just maybe… if you had told me about them earlier, before any of this had ever happened, I might have said yes." With all his strength and willpower, he turned his head to gaze at the upset yeti. "But you waited too long. I can't honestly say I could do anything with you knowing that all this was…"

He stopped himself and turned back. He could his body begin to burn and hurt from his own feelings. He needed to get away from there, just for a little bit.

"I need time to think," he said into the open air. "But I promise I'll be back later, and we can actually talk about all of this – about you and me... about us. Is that okay?"

It nearly insulted Skips to see his friend request this of him with his back turned. But he couldn't say no to Benson anymore. He was in too deep, and couldn't escape with the proper closure he needed. "Alright," he nodded. "I'll go back to your apartment and wait."

"You'll need my keys to get inside," Benson said softly, fumbling around his body. He turned back to get another good glimpse of Skips, but he was already gone. The only thing that accompanied Benson now was the warm spring air and the gentle breeze.

He looked up at the sky and frowned exhausted. He had never felt this emotionally drained in all of his life. His mind only told him that it was only going to get far worse before it got any better though.

Something slivered under his feet, and he looked down and found a small glob of Pestilence with three eyes staring up at him. It laughed manically and danced around the gumball machine's feet.

"Considering the mood I'm in," Benson snarled, "do you really want to be around me?"

The thing did not answer, choosing to hum some sad little song about water, and slowly dance and jump around the ground. Benson eventually grinned at it, brought his foot up, and kicked the small thing as hard as he could. It flew a good distance before splattering onto the ground some ways away.

**What the Water Gave Me** - _Florence and the Machine_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

And there we go. The confession is finally out on the table. And it only took 23 chapter and 150,000 words to do it. I'm beginning to think I overdue it when I write these stories. Either way, it's nice to get it out of the way and out in the open. Also, the song title for this chapter is one of my favorite songs I've heard in a long while, and was a fantastic inspiration. More so than some of the other chapters.

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	24. Nameless Song

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Nameless Song**

The knocking was soft and spaced out at first in an attempt to try and act as civil as he possibly could. After a few seconds though, Benson just gave up and knocked as loud and hard as he could against the door. He needed someone to be there, he didn't care who. He wasn't sure what must have been going through his head, especially considering he just ran all the way from the park. The physical exhaustion gave him a small break from his racing thoughts, focusing on recovering from the sprint. He gave the door one more round of rapping, before punching his fist at it and turning away from it. He obviously wasn't going to find any help here.

But he was wrong. The door knob clicked and began to turn, as the resident of the home flung the door open and stepped out with an annoyed expression. It was quickly changed when they noticed who it was that was making such a commotion.

"Benson?" Margaret said as she stepped out. "What are you doing here?"

"Dude!" screamed a voice from inside the apartment. "Aren't you still on clock?"

The older man peeked inside Margaret's apartment and found Mordecai on the carpeted floor, accompanied by Eileen and Rigby, all of them with Chinese take out boxes in their mitts.

"Benson, is something wrong?" Margaret chimed in.

He looked up at her and gave a tired grin. "Help," he whispered, shrugging as he did. His body movements and tone in his voice suggested that all the life had been drained out of him. "Help," he repeated, yet again with a shrug.

Margaret pursed her beak and looked back at the group of friends she was with. Eileen had heard him and was more than happy to bring him inside, waving the two of them to come in. Rigby rolled his eyes and groaned something under his breath, to which Mordecai nodded twice in agreement with his usual, "hm-hm".

"I know I should have called before coming," Benson continued, "but I don't know who else to go to. Pops and Don are still missing, and I don't know if I can trust Skips anymore. You're the only one I think I can think of to trust right now."

It almost scared Margaret just how calm he seemed to be acting, especially with that disturbing grin on his face. It was foreboding and unsettled her right down to her very soul. Something was going on, as it usually had been for the past few weeks, and she wasn't going to turn him away now.

"Okay," she said moving out of the way, "come on in."

Benson walked into the apartment without hesitation, walking into the middle of the room and stopping. The rest of the group now saw the exact same thing that Margaret had just seen, and were just as mortified and disturbed by the strange behavior of the gumball machine.

"Come on," Margaret continued, leading him forward, "we'll go to my room and talk."

"Hey, wait!" Mordecai interrupted. "Is this about the park or something? Because if it is, Rigby and I have a right to know what's going!"

Rigby nodded and stuffed some noodles into his mouth. "Yeah, especially when it's talking about Pops and Don," he said with a full mouth.

It almost shocked Benson to hear that Rigby was interested about his little brother. Even in Rigby it turns out he still cared about his family to some extent.

Mordecai and Rigby were right though. It did involve the park, and it did involve Pops and Don, amongst other things. He nodded to the two of them and joined the group on the floor. Margaret rubbed her arms anxiously, dreading any mention of Bad News, or any of the terrible things that it was probably plotting at that very moment. She sat next to Benson – close enough for her arm to be touching his side – and listened in.

"So what's the story?" Eileen asked as she sat down her box of take out. "I only know as much as Margaret and the guys have told me."

"What's the most recent thing you know?" Benson asked in a rasp.

The group looked at each other as if to try and understand how much the other knows.

"I know that Skips got canned," Mordecai said.

"I know Pops and Don got kidnapped by Tim," Rigby added.

"I know that you and Margaret dated for a while," Eileen commented.

"YOU WHAT!" Mordecai screamed.

The group laughed at him, but quickly regained their composure when they looked to Benson, who was anything but joking. Whatever was going on, it was big. But they already knew that. The park had gone through enough the past few weeks to tell them that there was a bigger plot afoot.

"Benson," Margaret sighed, placing her wing around his neck, "you know you can say whatever you want and it won't leave this room, will it?" She glared maliciously at Mordecai and Rigby (the raccoon more so), who groaned and agreed.

The machine shook his head and slump forward slightly. "How am I suppose to trust Skips or anyone for that matter anymore?" he asked the four youngsters.

The question just seemed so blunt that none of them knew exactly how they were supposed to react.

"Why can't you trust Skips?" Eileen asked curiously. Out of the bunch, she was the most uninformed, so the most anything that could be said would be news to her.

Benson sighed and looked down at his feet: "Because he's been lying to us all this time."

Mordecai and Rigby exchanged a quizzical glance at one another.

"What was he lying about?" Mordecai asked. "Are you sure you just aren't over reacting?"

"Yeah," Rigby added, "he's a pretty cool guy. Why would he lie to anybody? He's been alive so long he shouldn't have anything to hide, right?"

Benson looked down on the two, his eyes as truthful as they could possibly be. Even Mordecai and Rigby had trouble not believing Benson after seeing that look.

"What happened?" Margaret asked.

Benson smiled and let out a brief hoot. "I can't believe he went all this time without telling anyone about it. I don't know how I'm supposed to trust him anymore." He was repeating himself to the point where it unnerved the group around him.

He then began to recount the story that Skips had told him and Maellard the previous night before, and also about how he was able to find the bodies, and who Bad News really was, and his connections to Veronica. Their faces lit up in a variety of ways, ranging from amusement to panic, and astonishment to disgust.

Margaret's in particular was more so in anger than anyone else. "That bitch," she muttered with grit, "she was in on it the whole time." Her beaked coiled hatefully into a frown, as she gripped at her food box, trying to keep herself from losing control.

"I don't know what Veronica is doing with him," Benson groaned. "Apparently, he's the one that she left me for. Isn't that a kick in the ass? But I don't think she has anything to do with Don and Pops though…"

"BENSON!" the robin interrupted. "She's involved simply by association! We need to stop her if we can. We should go down to the Coffee Shop right now, and…"

"Calm down, Margaret!" Eileen pleaded. "You need to think things through clearly. If we go down there and do anything to Veronica, there's a good chance that the monster will get all of us for sure!"

"She's right," Rigby agreed. "If what Benson is saying is true, then none of us really stand a chance against that thing."

"But…" the woman grunted. She looked over at Mordecai for support, but did not receive any back. She looked over at Benson, who didn't seem to care that much about Veronica, and let her anger fly away. "They can't get away with this."

"I know," Benson snapped. "Don't you think I already know that? Don't you think if I could have stopped this thing by now, I would have? We've stopped it how many times now: three? Four? I've lost count at this point. I don't think this thing can die. Even if we were to stop it, it would probably just find a way to come back somehow. How are we supposed to go up against something like that?"

Nobody had an answer for him. They were just as stumped as he was, considering all the information that they all knew at this point. Margaret still stood by going after Veronica, but that was voted down again.

"Maybe Skips would know," Mordecai said.

Benson scoffed at him and curled his legs close to his chest. "Skips thinks that by running away, it'll fix everything because Pestilence is just trying to torture him. Really, I think he's after me more than him."

"Now why would you think something like that?" Margaret asked. "If that thing is a monster from Skips' past, why of all people would he want to come after you than the yeti who put him in the ground?"

Benson was silent at first, refusing to tell them anymore than they needed to know. However, this was still an important part of the creature, and it needed to be said.

"Pestilence doesn't really try to kill Skips or anything like that," Benson sighed. "He's actually going after all the people Skips cares about in his life: Wives, husbands, children, friends, and family. I guess maybe that's why he decided to kidnap both Pops and Don? I'm still trying to figure that part out."

"Well," Eileen interrupted, "he may be using Pops as a bargaining chip to keep Maellard out of the picture. What better way to keep from being tracked down than by threatening the richest man in the city's son?"

Benson and the group could agree on that. But it still didn't explain Don though.

"Why would he kidnap Don though, instead of just tying him up and burying him like Ploddevize and the nurse?" Mordecai asked. "That doesn't seem like it would make sense."

Margaret pondered on it and thought of something. "Do you think that Veronica was supposed to tell Benson all of this, or do you think she did it on her own?"

"Knowing Veronica," Benson shrugged, "she probably did it on her own. She always was a sort of wild card."

"Well then, why take Don?" Eileen asked. "Tim could have gotten away with it easily if he just kidnapped Pops and left Don alone. He would have had the protection thanks to Pops, and he would have had the body too!"

Benson's eyes looked up into the ceiling as his mind remained lost in thought. "Something kind of bugs me about the whole thing," he said, catching their attention. "In that hallucination I had a few nights back, Pestilence called Don 'useful'. So he obviously took Don for more reasons than just because he saw Tim for who he really was."

"Useful?" Rigby laughed. "I don't think Don's ever been useful." He was then slapped upside the head by Mordecai a second later, and consoled by Eileen right after that.

Margaret smiled kindly at the display before returning to Benson. "All this is a good theory Benson, but you still haven't explained to us why he's going after you. If he's going after people Skips cares about, why hasn't he come after Mordecai or Rigby yet? And what about Mitch and the ghost? Shouldn't they be considered targets as well?"

The two younger males in the room looked over their shoulders when Margaret mentioned them. The very thought of Pestilence coming after them simply for knowing Skips scared their tails into a ruffle.

"Why do you think it's just you, Benson?" Eileen asked.

Benson looked at each one of the four individually, and then back up at the ceiling. "I think Skips has feelings for me," he sighed.

Rigby did his best to hold in a chortle, covering his mouth to keep it from escaping. Eileen giggled, thinking the idea was cute, blushing slightly at the mention. Mordecai and Margaret, however, gave each other the same curious expression and looked back over to the gumball machine.

"Did he… did he say that?" Margaret asked.

"He kissed me," Benson groaned. "I don't think it can be any clearer than that."

"Dude, seriously?" Rigby exclaimed, suddenly interested upon discovering it was true.

"He just crawled on top of me and gave me a kiss," Benson continued.

"Sick!" Rigby yelled, sticking out his tongue. "I didn't need to hear that!"

Mordecai nodded along with his friend and grimaced a bit. "Yeah dude, could you leave out those kind of details. I don't think any of us want to hear them."

Margaret stared down Mordecai, daggers of disapproval thrown at him. "You're still on thin ice right now, Mordecai," she snapped at him. "Keep your comments to yourself."

He apologized for both him and Rigby, who went along with his friend in order to keep any additional arguments from happening.

Margaret breathed out her annoyance, and returned to a more calmer demeanor. "So you think that because Skips actually likes you, you're going to be Pestilence's next target?"

He nodded and fell onto his back, sprawling his body all over the floor.

"How long do you think he's cared for you that way?" Margaret asked.

"I don't know," Benson answered. "I don't know how long it is that he's had feelings for me, but I don't want them. If Skips liking me means I could die tomorrow, then I really don't want any part of it. I just want to save Pops and Don and get back to the way things were, minus the yeti."

"Easier said than done, dude," Mordecai said.

"It doesn't matter," Benson continued. "There's almost nothing we can do. Skips isn't going to tell me any way to stop Pestilence, and is more worried about trying to get out of town than stay and help."

"Sounds to me like he's trying to carry the weight of the world on his back," Margaret added.

"Join the club," the gumball machine sighed. "I just don't understand why he would keep something like an evil entity living beneath the basement a secret like that. I just don't know if I can even trust him anymore because of it."

"You don't know?" Eileen asked. "Why don't you know?"

Benson propped his head up to get a better view of the mole. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she continued, "if he did something like that, I think most people would have just up and cut all ties with that person. You seem like you don't want to cut any ties, and want a reason to actually trust him. You don't know, because you don't want to lose him."

Benson smiled a little and let his head fall back onto the floor. "I've known Skips for who knows how long at this point. It's hard for me to think about going to work and not seeing him there ever again. Plus, he's one of the only friends I've got, or at least, one of the only friends who actually likes to talk to me." He let some air escape his nostrils and looked over to Margaret. "I don't have a lot of those," he said with a smile to her.

She smiled back rubbed his glassy dome with care. "Well, what do we do about it then?" she asked him. "What do we need to get you to trust Skips again?"

"More information," Benson chuckled, "something that none of us have, and will probably never have. Skips would be the only one who knows anything else, and he's being really secretive about it."

Something then crossed Rigby's brain, striking like a bolt of lightning. "I think I may know someone who knows enough about Skips to help," he slyly said.

"And who would that be, dude?" Mordecai asked to his friend skeptically.

The group all looked over at the raccoon, who smiled evilly at the bunch.

"Any of you ever been to the Tiny Chateau Institution?"

* * *

><p>The Tiny Chateau Institution for the Mentally Ill was a place that most people usually judged by named alone. It had taken up names such as the Chateau Nuthouse, the Tiny Asylum, and That Place Everyone Passes When They Go Up To Make-Out Point. It had grown into a reputation of housing the most twisted and depraved individuals a person could ever house, going as far as to say the criminally insane.<p>

In reality, Tiny Chateau was a high class establishment for those who wish to see their loved ones get better. Much like all institutions of the same kind, it was constantly judged for the people it tried to help and better. Its doctors and nurses treat their patients with care, and do their best to aide them in their recovery and coping with what ales them.

"This is it?" Rigby complained as the group was being led through a courtyard. "This isn;t what people kept telling me about. I thought this was going to be all crazy and scary and crap like that!"

"Yeah, I was expecting something a little different too," Mordecai added as he looked around the well kempt area.

"It's actually very nice," Margaret commented, observing the same artistic statue that Mordecai had stopped to ponder at.

"This place hasn't changed a bit since I was here," Eileen said out loud. The group, including the doctor, all stopped and looked at her with judging eyes. "What? I had a problem for a few weeks; wasn't that big of a deal."

They all looked at each other and chocked it up to Eileen being Eileen, and continued on through the place. Eventually, they were led back into a residential area, where they stopped in front of room 1982. The doctor walking them through looked in through the tiny window in the door, and knocked on it. "You got some visitors," she said in a slow voice.

The patient in the room stood up, clomped about a few times, and opened the door. He winked at his attending doctor, but scowled angrily when he saw who she was with.

"Oh it's you all," Ploddevize sighed. "What are you doing here?"

Benson looked over at Rigby, who nodded back to him. "The nurses told me where they had taken Dr. Ploddevize while I was asking about Don earlier."

Benson nodded, going along with it and turned back to Martin. "We need to talk to you about Skips," the gumball machine admitted. "It's about all the things that have been happening lately."

"Sorry," Ploddevize frowned, "but that's doctor patient confidentiality. Now if you excuse me, these god awful novels won't read themselves ya know." He made an attempt to slam the door in their faces, but was thwarted when Benson stuck his foot out and kept it between the door and its frame. The door itself bounced on hitting the door, denting the metal on Benson's foot.

"Still stubborn as a mule, I see," Martin moaned as he looked down at the dented tow. "Now if only you could channel that into something more interesting, you wouldn't be such a boring machine when you visit for check ups."

"Martin!" the attending doctor yelled. "You should apologize to this man, this instant!"

"BS I should," he yelled back at her. "I don't gotta apologize for shit that don't mean nothin' to me. I've have to deal with this idiot for the good part of a decade, and I'd say what I just did was pretty much worth it. Also, don't talk down to me like a child – it demeans all us doctors." He tried to slam the door again, but once again, it bounced back.

"People's lives are in danger!" Benson said. "Skips isn't telling us anything, and we need as much information as we can get our hands on to save Don and Pops. You're his therapist! You can help us!"

"And if I say no and slam my door into your foot again?" Ploddevize asked.

Benson showed off his angry teeth and glared at the man across from him. "Then I'll probably die, Skips will disappear, Maellard will probably keel over from sickness, and you'll be out of a job, and stuck in here for the rest of your life."

The human stood and looked down condescendingly at the machine, moving lips thoughtfully to one side and then to the other. He then slammed the door on Benson's foot again, as hard as he could, and told the group to, "come on in."

Benson jumped up and down in pain as he held his foot in his hands. Mordecai and Rigby got a brief chuckle out of it, as did Eileen who blushed slightly at the doctor. He was cute, but he was no Rigby, she thought. Before entering, Margaret leaned down and gave Benson's foot a little bird kiss which gave him a light smile, though did not help alleviate any of the pain pulsing through his foot and up his leg.

Seeing no place to sit down and relax, they all sat down on the tile floor and tried to get themselves comfortable. The doctor from earlier remained outside the door, just in case something extreme might happen. Ploddevize jumped on his bed, and laid down, setting his book aside for later.

"What do you want to know?" he asked them.

Benson paused for a moment to think and then let loose his questions. "Did Skips ever tell you about Pestilence?"

"Yes sir!"

"So you knew all along about the homicidal monster living underneath the park house this whole time and didn't tell us!" the machine yelled.

Ploddevize chuckled and folded his arms behind his head. "He froze the damn thing, buried him six feet under, and then finished the job with dirt and cement. I'd have to say that qualifies as the perfect definition of the word 'overkill', so I didn't think it was an important thing to divulge to you or Maellard. Next question."

Benson snuffed out some air and continued: "Did he tell you anyway to try and stop it?"

"The only thing he told me," Martin replied, "was that that thing had been tormenting him a good chunk of his life. You wouldn't believe some of the horror stories he told me. I actually felt bad for him, and knowing my personality, that's a big shock."

"Anything else?"

The human nodded. "A few things here and there. He's always worried that it would come back and try to torment him again, which it has apparently. He worries that it'll attack the people he cares for most of all, which it also seems to have done. And he's terrified about having to leave the park because he says it is one of the most relaxing and laid back experiences he's ever had in a few centuries, which really tells you how boring that yeti must be in reality!"

"Why does it keep going after Skips and his loved one?"

"I don't know."

"How is it that it keeps getting new bodies?"

"I do not know."

"Why did it wait so long to attack us?"

"I doth not knoweth."

"Do you know anything else that could help, Martin?"

The man shrugged and shook his head. "That's as much as I know to be honest. There's a few horror stories here and there, but I'm sure you don't want to hear them. Most of what Skips talks about is usually about working at the park, his relationships with other people from the past, present and future, as well as talking about…. Hmmmm…." He speech cuts short as he looks over at Benson and smiles.

Benson already knows what that grin was insinuating, and rolls his eyes. "I already know about his feelings for me," he sighed.

"Well that's good," Ploddevize said. "That yeti's had a thing about you for a very long time I'd say. He's had a lot of questions about living machine framework, and what's the best way to try and get ya, or how you and he could uh… heh heh heh."

Eileen and Margaret actually grew amused by the comment, doing their best to hide their laughter. Yet, Mordecai and Rigby, whom everyone thought would be disgusted by the implications, were actually curious about it themselves. How would a yeti and a gumball machine commence in the actual act?

"Look," Benson interrupted, "we're not here about stupid stuff like that. I just wanna know if there's anything in Skips past that could help us save Don and Pops."

Ploddevize thought about it for a second, shifting around a bit in his bed, before sitting up, and putting his feet down on the tile. "I think there's something you should probably see. Follow me." He stood up and slowly walked out the door, the attending doctor following him as he paced down the hallway. The group stood as well, and followed him.

They traversed a series of hallways for a bit until they ended up in a much dimmer and unlit area. The density of patients to doctors seem to be a little less here, but one look inside the little windows gave the reason. Some of them were locked in padded rooms, while others were strapped to their beds. Some were placed in straight jackets, and some simple didn't move. It was obviously where the most serious cases were held.

"This place is kinda of creepy," Margaret commented as she latched her arm around Mordecai's.

"Awesome," Rigby whispered. He moped momentarily when Eileen grabbed a hold of Rigby's arm as well, mimicking her friend.

"Actually, it's not that bad," Ploddevize said. "I've talked with a good chunk of the people in this wing. A lot of them just have trouble controlling themselves is all and needed some extra attention. I like these people."

He led them finally to a random unnumbered room. He looked inside and smiled. "Oh good, they're both here," he said with a grin. "That saves me the trip on having to watch the whole three extra steps across the hall to get to hers." He stepped away from the door and offered the window up to the group. "Now you won't be able to go inside, but can certainly observe them."

Benson stepped over to the window, only to be pushed away by Margaret and Mordecai, who stepped in holding their significant best buddies in their arms so they could look too.

"Congratulation, Martin," the attending sighed. "You've turned are humble little place of recovery into a sideshow attraction."

"Quiet you," Ploddevize snapped. "This might actually help them."

Inside the padded room, a mountain of books was stacked everywhere. The place seemed like a library without bookcases. From what they could see, all the little novels and such had even been alphabetized. In the middle of the room, there was a middle aged possum with his head in a book, reading aloud to another person in the room. An elderly human woman sat across from him, smiling and laughing as he read the book to her, in which he responded with laughter of his own.

"The short little possum is Barnaby and the old woman is Amy," Ploddevize introduced. "Barnaby is the best friend and business partner of the company Aristotle's Tinctures and Regular Supplies. Amy is a woman who was brought here a long time ago, and hasn't stepped foot outside this establishment since."

Benson nodded and watched the two inside converse.

"She's also technically Skips' daughter-in-law."

The group all went wide eyed and looked over at the human.

"You heard me right," he said. "That girl was head over heals in love with Skips' daughter."

"So gayness runs in the family then," Rigby muttered. He was once again slapped upside the head by Mordecai.

"From what I heard," Martin continued, "they brought her in because someone close to her said she might be a danger to herself. This was directly after her lover's funeral. It probably didn't surprise the staff at the time. It's never easy to lose someone you care about so deeply. That's especially traumatizing when you're the person who ends up slaughtering your lover as well as your child."

The four went white and silent. None of them even wanted to ask further as to what the story behind that was.

The attending next to him sighed and continued from there: "One of my former colleagues was a doctor who was here at the time she was brought in. From what he said, she was very kind, though a little sarcastic and witty. A lot of times, they found her crying out in the court yard. At some point though, she just sort of shutdown. She refused to talk, or eat, or do anything for that matter. She was on an IV for about three months after that, I think.

"When she did finally start eating again, they found that she was slowly regressing to a child like mind. It was kind of sad to watch after a while. Eventually, my friend retired and I took over her case. Then Barnaby was admitted here after his little fallout with his friends that was all over the business news. For some reason, she took a liking to him and followed him around like a puppy. I guess he must have liked her well enough, because as you can see, he's enjoying his time with her. This is especially strange, considering no one on this staff can get the possum to actually open up to anybody, save for his best friend who visits him just about every other day since his admittance."

"How does she afford this place?" Margaret asked.

"Her father-in-law is an immortal," Benson mentioned. "I'm sure he has some loose pocket change here and there. She probably got it as an inheritance from the death of Skips' daughter."

"2.5 million from what he told me," Ploddevize interjected. The group once again looked at him with wide eyes, and then back to the patients in the room. "I think he just likes to live poor."

"What does any of this have to do with Skips and Pestilence?" Mordecai asked.

Ploddevize folded his arms and leaned against the wall. "When both of them were admitted into the place, they had reports of coughing up some sort of black sludge for the first couple of days before it let up. And while I haven't been coughing that shit up, I have noticed my urine has been an almost blackish color."

"Pestilence," Benson said to himself.

"I have a theory," Martin continued. "Pestilence by definition is meant to be sickness, and a lot of legends tell of four beings that end the world – one them being sickness incarnate. That black shit he's spraying everywhere is an embodiment of disease. It's like a wild card of illness that seeps its way into the system and either attacks you all at once, or lays dormant for a time in which it can strike. Even more so, I think that purifying ritual that Skips is so fond of, only protects against the physical illnesses. Mental illnesses on the other hand… well…" He trails off for a moment and looks to the ground. "I didn't get the chance to tell you all, but before all the craziness happened, we diagnosed Don with major depression."

"Excuse me," Benson said as he stepped away from the window. "Why weren't we informed of this?"

"Again, doctor patient confidentiality; I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone anyways. Truth be told, after the second attack on you from him is when we really started to notice it. The signs were all there, and I was already ready to diagnose him with that condition. I gave him some drugs that would help him cope with it, but they didn't help as well as I thought. One night I found him wondering the halls of the hospital in a stupor, looked like he had been crying all night. I got him into a therapy session with me, and it turns out he was thinking about killing himself when I found him. He was having trouble living with the guilt about what happened at the park and what he did to you. I can't begin to tell you how happy he was when you invited him to that play of yours though." Martin smiled and let out a sincere laugh, before it all faded away.

"Before Don was admitted," he continued, "we got several people come in with some of the symptoms of other mental conditions: OCD, mild depression, tourettes, just a lot of stuff. All the people we were diagnosing though all had one thing in common: they were survivors from the park after Pestilence went off the first time. And if I did my calculations correctly, it was 10 – 15 percent of the people listed that Maellard gave me. I've also began to notice that the more times someone has been sprayed with that gunk, the higher the probability of an illness of some sort." His eyes shot down to Benson, telling him what he didn't need to be told. "My point is this: Even if you do save Don and Pops, Don's already been diagnosed with something he'll very likely have to live with the rest of his life, and there's a high chance that Pops' could be infected with some sort of mental disorder as well, even after he were to get 'purified' as you would say. Physically they're safe, but mentally… well… the majority of you have come in contact with him."

The group looked at each other as a small bit of fright and worry took over them. Benson held no emotion on his face, and simply let a tired groan escape his throat. He didn't even say anything when he began to walk away from the group. He needed away from there to clear his head: an act that even he had been having difficulty doing as of late.

He walked through the hallways at first, doing his best to seclude the thoughts and the dreads in his head. But as the voices and memories got louder, he picked up his pace and ran through the hallways, through the court yard, and then eventually made his way back to the parking lot, where he leaned against Margaret's car and let out an angry scream.

He didn't want to hear any of this. None of this information was giving him any clues on how they could get Pops or Don back, or if there was a way to stop Pestilence. All it did was make him scared. Terror grew in him accompanied by his worry and stress. The more he thought about it, the more his mind wandered into the "what ifs" and "how abouts". Voices in the background clouded any judgment he had and he just wanted them to shut up.

"You going to be okay?" ask a calm and caring voice behind him.

Benson spun around and found Margaret in front of him, looking more worried for him than herself even.

"Does it look like I'm going to be alright!" he screamed at her. "I don't need people asking me if I'm going to be alright all the time when they know I'm not going to be alright!"

"You don't know that Benson," she said to him.

"You think?" he countered. "Pestilence, Skips, kidnappings, me possibly going nuts in the head, abandoning work, everything in my life falling apart? Wake up, Margaret! Stop trying to sugar coat everything for me. My life is crap right now, and you know it! Would it kill you to be honest for a change!"

She frowned at him, brought her hand up, and slapped him across the face. "You think it's been easy for me either? You think I enjoy going through all this panic about myself and getting dragged into the park's affairs? Do you think I enjoy watching my friend hurt himself so much in front of me?" She shook in anger and slapped him again. "If you're expecting me to give you a reason to give up, I'm not gonna be the one to give it to you!"

"I'm not giving up," Benson corrected her. "But I know things aren't going to get any better from here."

"You don't know that!" she screamed. "Things might work out in the end for you, just wait and see. I mean, look at me! I never thought I'd be able to find someone considering the circumstances, but Mordecai actually wants to see where things go now. I know he's put off a bit by it and probably still scared, but I can tell he's happy with his decision!"

"You mean because you two screwed?" Benson said coldly.

Margaret took a step back in disgust. That was a harsh comment even for Benson. "So what if we did?" she shrieked. "We both needed it, okay? We both needed to feel something from someone, even if we hated each other for the moment. And you know what, it worked. He actually wants to date me, and I really want to date him. I have a chance to be happy with someone. Don't sit there and try to make me feel bad about my own happiness!"

"And is that a proper basis for a relationship?" he asked with snide. "You just go and screw each other and you're automatically together. Because you two needed to be around someone desperately, that's enough? Sounds like you two don't know the difference between lust and love!"

"I'M NOT YOU, OKAY!" she blared as loud as she could. "I don't go around being angry at everything, and complaining about my life and all the sad things that happened in my past! I don't sit there and complain about being stressed and alone, when you have people around you who want to make sure you're relaxed and happy! I'm not the one who's angry at your friend of who knows how long, because he was trying to protect you and honestly believed that a monster from his past was gone forever! I'm not the one yelling at me just because he's an unhappy asshole! Cause I'm not you! So don't come treading all over my own happiness just because you can't get any for yourself!"

She took in a few deep breaths and watched as Benson slumped down onto the ground, against the car. She rubbed her head, feeling everything tighten up right where the top of her nose meets the space between her eyes.

"Why are we yelling at each other?" she asked with an exhausted gasp. "Is all of this really making you that upset? Are you really that unhappy, Benson?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when he realized that his words would only come out as another yell. He blinked and tried to think in between the bits of empty space that weren't occupied by the hate and stress his brain was constantly subjecting him to know. "I don't like myself anymore, Margaret."

The red robin's expression grew damper when she heard him say that. She took a step down, and knelt to his level.

"I don't want to do this anymore," he said, pulling his knees close him. "I'm supposed to be happy. I'm supposed to have found someone I can be happy with. I'm supposed to be working at the park with my friends and hanging out with them, and not acting like their boss. I should be laid back and relaxed about things like Skips, and be easy going like Mordecai and Rigby. I should have Muscle Man's and High Five Ghost's pride, or your commitment to your job, or Eileen's sense of knowledge, and Pops sense of humor, and Don's good nature. But I have none of those things. I'm just a stupid no good waste of space."

He squeezed his legs in as tight as he could, feeling bits of clear lubricant coming down his face. They were closest things he had to tears. The spaces in his mind were filling up, and everything was just getting louder and louder.

"Stop it," Margaret whispered, leaning in. "Just stop it." She leaned her forehead against his, and wrapped her arms around his body. "I can't stand listening to you beat yourself up like this. And I can't stand it listening to you say how everyone else has it better off than you. We all have our problems Benson's, some more than others. But you know what? I like you just the way you are, and if you want me to be honest, I kind of am jealous of you."

"Why would you be jealous of someone like me?" he sobbed. "I don't have anything for anyone to be jealous of."

"You have more friends than I do," she said. "You have a job you know you'll get promoted in over time. You got someone like Skips whose been trying to protect you this whole time. You go on adventures and battles and all this other exciting stuff. You're a sad person, I know, but I think you can be stronger because of that. I think you can do anything if you put your mind to it."

"But what's the point?" he cried. "He's just gonna kill me anyways."

Margaret didn't have anything uplifting to say beyond that. She put her thoughts into words as best she could though. "Let's say he is then. What do you want to do before that happens?"

"I wanna save Pops and Don," Benson said. "I want to be a hero. I want Maellard to respect me. I want Veronica to know that I don't hate her anymore. I want Dave back. I want Skips to know that I'm thankful for sticking by me all this time."

The droplets didn't fall from his face. They slid down the circular formation of his dome and eventually continued to trickle down his body. He hated that feeling of the lubricant rolling down his body. It made him feel less than living.

"Then why don't you?" Margaret asked. "Why don't you go talk to Skips about this? It may be your last chance."

"He hates me now, I know it."

"He doesn't hate you," she yelled. "If he hated you, why would he have stayed behind? If he hated you, why would he have kissed you back at the park?"

"I don't even know how I feel about that…"

"Benson," she said, shaking him a bit. "You can sit here and wallow in self pity, or you can actually go and have something right happen to you." The bird paused and looked around the parking lot, expecting something inevitable or horrific to happen. When she realized there was nothing to fear, she laughed at her own nervous behavior and continued. "I don't know what's going to happen, Benson, but I do know that this may be the last chance you get to figure things out for yourself, not for others. I don't know if Bad News, or Pestilence, or Tim, or whatever you want to call him is going to kill you or not, or what he wants with Don and Pops, or Veronica's deal in all of this, or whatever's going on is gonna be solved. But I do know that you need to figure your own problems out before you can help everyone else with there's. So c'mon, Benson. You're on a short leash here. You need to figure yourself out before anybody else."

The gumball machine listened to her rant, and buried his head further into his legs. In the cracks of light between them, he saw a pebble right at his feet. He kicked it, unsure of why exactly he did it. But in the split second it took to send that pebble rolling, it gave him just the briefest moments of clarity from his harsh and aching thoughts.

"So what am I supposed to do then?" his voice scratched.

"I don't know," Margaret said quietly. "What do you want to do?"

He looked up from the sheltered world he had brought himself into, and looked at the girl staring at him with empathy and compassion. He let another sigh escape his nose, and began to stand up.

"Take me home," he asked of her.

She smiled and nodded her head.

* * *

><p>He knew he should have gone back to work. Muscle Man and High Five Ghost were probably confused and angry at his disappearance, and would probably report to Maellard about it. Benson didn't need to guess that. He'd probably be receiving a phone call within the next couple of hours from the crotchety old bastard as to what was going on, and Benson would probably just hang up on him. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.<p>

He watched as Margaret and the rest drove away into the city, the four of them quiet the whole way back to Benson's apartment as well as when they dropped him off. Margaret gave him a hug and told him to, "be strong". It helped repair just the smallest fractions of Benson's shattered psyche: just enough to get him going through the door and up the steps.

His mind was still racing as it screamed and ripped at him with everything his life had given up to this point. They mostly dwelled on the hate and pitiful circumstances of his past, as well as the miserable rut he had degraded himself into so as not to feel that pain anymore. But his mind didn't bother him that much at the moment. In fact, it seemed like it was pushing him toward something. He focused exclusively on a single thought: one aspect that he knew he could control if he actually tried. By doing that, he forced the rest of his feelings behind him, their persistence working as a positive force to drive him forward as they inadvertently propelled that one thought through forward.

He rounded the corner toward his apartment, and stopped right in front of the door. There sat Skips, tired and worn out, with one leg stretched out, and the other bent up, giving his head and arms a proper place to rest. He slept quietly as he took in the air around him in large puffs and released them in long drawn out gusts. He waited for Benson, just as he said he would.

Benson didn't feel like waking him up at first. His plan hadn't been fully realized just yet, and he needed the extra time to think. But he couldn't go inside – Skips was sleeping against the door. All he could do was sit and wait. So he slid down next to Skips, and waited for the yeti to stir. He folded his hands together and tried to relax himself.

What was he going to say? What was he even going to do? Skips was the only aspect of his life at the moment that he knew he had complete control over, and he was going to set things right. Whether that meant breaking their friendship off and sending Skips away, or accepting the things the yeti did in order to protect Benson, he knew that this needed to end right there. His mind couldn't handle anymore "exciting" new information.

He looked over at Skips one more time, and saw the yeti with head still resting on his arms, who in turn rested on his knee cap, staring at him with one eye open. Neither of them moved or said anything. They knew exactly what needed to be done and set out to make all this work out.

They both got up, Benson unlocked his door, and they stepped inside.

* * *

><p>Margaret stepped out of the car, leaving the other three inside of it. She glared hatefully at the Coffee Shop sign and kicked her tire as she walked around the car. She had her own little vendetta to settle as well.<p>

"Margaret, get back in the car," Mordecai pleaded from the front seat.

"Yeah, Margaret," Eileen agreed. "What if she tries to hurt you or something? I don't want anything bad to happen to you!" The mole looked over at Rigby, who strangely enough, looked surprisingly concerned for the red robin's well being as much as Eileen.

They all knew that coming here was a bad idea. Even Margaret knew that doing this could likely kill her, but her resolve was just too strong. She needed to do this.

"I'll be fine guys," Margaret said as she kept walking. "I'm not gonna do anything that'll put my life in danger. I just want to talk to Veronica." She took the few short steps down into the little alcove of the shop and reached for the entrance. "If anything happens, I left the keys in the car."

Mordecai snapped his beak down in fear for the girl, and burst out of the car in a sprint. However, when he got to the front door, he found that Margaret had locked it. He banged on the glass of it and screamed out for her. But she only looked at him through the barrier and smiled, putting her wing on the glass, which he mimicked over hers. After a few second, she released herself of the door and made her way down the stairs into the shop.

Veronica was already there, looking on with confusion as her coworker locked the door, keeping anyone from getting inside. Luckily, it was a slow day, and there were no customers around. The gumball girl could care less if the red robin wanted to ruin business for the shop.

"So what's with you?" she asked with a smirk.

Margaret's intentions were to simply sit the woman down and try to hammer out the details of Veronica and who she was, and her husband. But Benson flashed across her mind, as well as all the hurtful things this woman had put her through, and her calm demeanor shattered in favor for a more brutal slap across the glassy dome. She did that three more times before actually calming down.

"What the hell!" Veronica chided as she brought her hands up in defense. "What is wrong with you!"

"You're a bitch!" Margaret said. "That is what's wrong with me. You've been stringing us along this entire time, haven't you?"

Veronica took a few steps back, and wiped away the little bit of "saliva" that had leaked out after one of the slaps. Her lipstick smeared upon doing this, leaving a rather noticeable mark on the glass around her cheek. "I see you've been talking with Benson," she groaned.

Margaret didn't even give her a chance to defend herself. "You are a cruel, evil, bitch of a woman if I had ever met one! You knew that your husband or boyfriend or whatever he is to you was going around torturing Benson and Skips, and you didn't do a damn thing about it! Do you really hate Benson that much?"

Veronica frowned at the woman, and adjusted the hair on her head. "You don't know the full details of this little game. And really, I don't much care about them, save for a few minor details that I've already discussed with my husband. All I did was give my love one order, and one order only, and he's accomplished it with no problem whatsoever. True, he's done a bit of pestering and acting like a two year old here and there, but he's done the one favor I've asked him to for me, so I'm not terribly angry at him!"

"And what would that be?" Margaret asked angrily. "What did you ask your husband to do that he's done well? Torture my friends? Try to infect them with some sort of disease or something? Kidnap Benson's friends and coworkers?"

"I can't control everything he does," Veronica screamed. "I'm not as much of an ice queen as you and everybody else make me out to be ya know."

"That's rich," Margaret laughed sarcastically. "You really think you're not an ice queen? You've insulted me on numerous occasions, hurt Benson's feelings all the time, you're married to a monster who wants to kill him as well as probably Skips and the rest of us, you're undermining everyone's authorities with a smile on your face, you rub your personality and charm in front of everyone to the point where it's maddening, and you're sitting here and telling me that you're not the bitch you say you are?"

The gumball machine frowned and cleared her throat. "There's a difference between being honest and being downright cruel," Veronica explained. "I'm very blunt, I won't deny that. Sometimes I can't control the things that come out of my mouth, and for that I apologize. But don't you dare standing there and accusing me that I'm this horrible and miserable person, because you don't know that! You barely know me, and you already want to judge me." The angry machine then reached into her apron and throws something onto the table beside them. "There's my checkbook. Why don't you take a look inside and see how many charitable organization I've donated to. Why not look at all the money I've spent trying to get my hometown rebuilt and flourishing again. How about you look at some of the memos I write for my checks: birthday gifts, business expenses, donations. I'll bet you'll find barely any of that money goes to myself. My ring, my clothes, and all my expenses have all come from my love, whom I went without when my ex-boyfriend's friend decided to trap him underneath a basement for a while. Do you have any idea what it's like to find out that the love of your life has gone missing, and has essentially left me in charge of all his affairs? I was angry! Not so much that I had to take care of all of his businesses, but that he had run off and disappeared! I thought he had left me. Thank the gods that Death decided to 'inform me' that he had only been subdued." She brought her fingers up into air quotes as she talked about Death, cursing his name under her breath.

She glared over at Margaret and walked up to her until she was right in her face. "I am not an evil person," she nagged. "If anything, that white ball of fluff that's in love with my ex is the evil one. So don't come to me and say that I'm a bad person when there are far worse ones out there than me." She then collected her checkbook, and walked away to the back room.

The only thing her rant did was drive Margaret into a deeper hatred for the woman. The bird looked back up at the entrance, and still found that Mordecai was in front of it, watching the action from outside. He couldn't hear anything, but his concern for the girl he cared for was great. Margaret snuffed out some exasperation and followed Veronica into the back room. She stopped dead in her tracks as she entered.

"DON!" Margaret screamed, putting her wings to her beak.

There against the wall, covered in trickling black ooze, was the tall younger brother of Rigby. He was shivering with his eyes wide in fear. His eyes looked to the woman at the door and he began to shake him head feverishly.

"There," Veronica said next to her. "You can have your stupid friend back if it'll make you all happy."

The robin dashed over to Don and examined him. He was a total wreck by the looks of things, but then again, who wouldn't have been after what he went through. Don and Benson were the ones who had been covered in that gunk the most, so it didn't surprise Margaret to see the raccoon in this state. She hoped that he hadn't been infected with anything new since his capture, but the chances of that were slim. She reached out to try and pick him up, but stopped short, afraid to get any of the gunk on herself. She would need to call Skips first.

No. She could deal with the sludge. If Benson and Don were strong enough to survive this far with it, she could too. She slung the man's arm around her neck, and picked him up from off the floor. She could get cleansed later. All that mattered at the moment was Don.

The robin glared angrily at Veronica, and swallowed her pride. "Thank you," she whispered in a barely audible tone. The gumball machine didn't say anything, and let the girl pass.

"Mar…garet?" Don whispered into her ear.

"Don't talk, Don," the girl said to him. "We're going to get you help."

"Mar… garet?"

"We're gonna go get Skips, and get you purified, and then we're gonna get you back to the hospital."

"Mar… garet?"

"What is it?" she asked, about to push through the swinging door.

He leaned as close as he could to her and let a soft warm breeze escape his lips. "Sugar?" he asked for in a venomous way.

The inside of Margaret's mouth went dry as the she listened to the warm hate in his voice spread out all across. He chuckled and opened his mouth, allowing a waterfall of dark sludge to flow out onto her clothes and trickle down to the floor. She looked at the inside of his mouth through the corner of her eye, and saw a great big terrible eyeball with an engrained sketch of a diamond shape in it's pupil. The girl wasted no time in pushing him away, and bursting through the swinging kitchen door.

Mordecai continued to look in from the outside, and saw Margaret sprinting away from the room as fast as her feet could take her. The blue jay banged on the glass, almost to ask why it was she was running. But then, when he saw the black tendrils and hands creep out of the back room toward her, he tried to force open the door, banging as hard he could on it.

Margaret jumped up the steps and worked quickly to unlock the door. But as soon as she unlocked the dead bolt, a hand crept by and locked it back. She could feel the darkness stalking up behind her, ready to strike at any moment. She looked out at Mordecai who was banging at the glass, causing little cracks to appear. She smiled sadly and said something that he couldn't hear. Then, it wrapped itself around her throat and she was dragged away, down the stairs, across the floor, and back into the room, where the creature unhinged his jaw and swallowed her whole. It was over in a matter of seconds.

It shocked Margaret, how her thoughts fluttered about, realizing how truly painless it was as her body slowly disintegrated in the belly of the beast. Before her consciousness faded, she remembered only the split second figures of her friends, of blue feathers, and of the machine who gave her bravery... and then it ceased, falling into a thoughtless void.

Don corrected his jaw and wiped his mouth in a gentlemanly manner. When he had finished with his meal, he turned to Veronica and smiled at her.

The woman however, did not return his smile and instead brought her fist across his face. "That was going too far Pessie," she yelled. "I told you I didn't want any of them dragged into this, and what do you do? You drag three people into it who shouldn't have been involved in the first place!"

"I'm sorry, gumdrop," he said with real guilt on his now raccoon host body, "but I needed Don's body since the last one had grown useless to me, and I needed Pops to keep Maellard off my back, and you know that child, Rigby, would have seen right through me the moment I stepped foot into their car."

"But this is going too far!" she yelled at him.

"I suppose you're right," he said sympathetically, "but we're almost done. Just bear with me a little while longer. And hey, I haven't done what you told me not to do, so I'd say I'm behaving myself pretty well."

The woman scowled him under her breath and rested her head on her palm. Her eyes suddenly had a view of Don's lovely package. "Well you would please put some clothes on then," she requested. "I don't want to look at that unless we're in the mood."

Pestilence looked down at his naked body and snapped his fingers. The same sweater vest and casual attire he had worn as Tim appeared right then. A pair of glasses appeared out of his palm, as he rubbed the gunk off of the them and placed them on his face.

"You really like that outfit, don't you?" Veronica said with a small smile, trying to get the feeling of guilt out of her system.

"I like what it says about me," he answered. He grinned happily to her, but noticed the still worried feelings she was transmitting through her body language. " I promise you, gumdrop, that this'll all be over soon. Then, we'll go take a nice long vacation, no killing or pandemics or anything. Just you, me, and this lovely raccoon body."

"And you're okay with this?" she asked, pointing to the world around her.

"Not really," he said almost annoyed, "but it's the only way to make the both of us happy. I'd like for it to linger a bit longer, but, all good things must come to an end, I suppose."

She nodded, and twirled her hair in an anxious manner.

"Cheer up, gumdrop," he said as he pulled her into a hug. "I'll bet you're really going to like this body though."

She nuzzled into him and tried to enjoy his warmth. "Well… it is actually a really sexy body," she laughed. "Is he still alive in there?"

"Yeah, yeah," Pestilence sighed. "Let's see where next couple of days takes us before we decide to off him or the idiot man's son. That sound good?"

Killing innocent by standards didn't suit her style though. She could probably convince him to just release them into a mental institution of something. Veronica simply shrugged and wrapped her arms around the raccoon. "Whatever makes you happy, dear."

The man grinned and held the woman close as they both walked out of the backroom. As soon as they exited, he brought his hand up, tipping off the confused Mordecai to duck out of way as the claws and elongated hands burst from the raccoon's back, and rush toward the front of the store. Grabbing at the walls, and tearing the entire front end off.

Mordecai got up and ran away as not to be cut or hurt from the debris. He dashed back over to the driver's side, and jumped inside, turning on the ignition and speeding off. His friends complained to him as he pressed down on the acceleration, asking where Margaret was. He stifled them and kept driving. The bird already knew she was gone.

With the walls thrown aside and the Coffee Shop in ruins, the gumball machine and the harbinger of sickness walked off together in sweet harmony, still in a loving embrace.

**Nameless Song – **_Motoi Sakuraba_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

The original chapter title was "Spider Bites" by Yoko Kanno, which flowed into the next chapter pretty well since they're the same song. I didn't like it as well, so I went with something else. The sad atmosphere of "Nameless Song" just works really well with the chapter. Just a random little tidbit.

I enjoyed the chapter rather well. It's another one of those 10,000 word chapters with a lot to say. I really need to control myself. Hahahahah! I wonder if anyone was surprised by the ending. Hope you all enjoyed it!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	25. Be Human

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Be Human**

**WARNING – This chapter contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.  
><strong>

"Do you want anything to drink?" Benson asked as he walked over to his kitchen area and pulled out a kettle.

Skips leaned against the wall opposite to the gumball machine at the far end of room. He looked away and down to the ground and whimpered, "not really," before shuffling a bit in his place and sighing.

Benson picked up on the low groan, and froze for second. He watched the water from his sink fill up the kettle, losing himself in its rhythmic motions as little thoughts and wonderments splashed around inside his skull. When it was half empty, he removed it from the sink and placed it on the stove. With the burner set to high, he looked back up in his cabinet and rummaged around for tea bags or instant hot cocoa, or something that would help ease his already tense mood.

He found a stray packet of earl grey – his last one by the looks of it. He took it out of the box it came in and threw the useless piece of cardboard away. He then got to work on trying to open the little plastic packet open, in an attempt to get the tea bag inside. However, the packet was stubborn and refused to budge, no matter how hard he tried to open it. He brought it too his teeth, and tore a seam through it. He smiled with some sense of relief, and tore into the packet… which in turn, tore directly through the tea bag as well. Little bits of dried leaf and spice fluttered the ground.

He stood there, looking at the torn bag, with small traces of the contents still inside. He barely even moved, save for the occasional pent up shiver. His eyes just focused on whatever was left inside and if it was even salvageable.

"Why did you lie?" he finally sputtered out.

Skips sighed, continuing to look away from the gumball machine. "I lied so that you and everyone else wouldn't get hurt." He smiled in realization and shook his head. "A lot of good that did me, huh?"

"Why me?" Benson continued.

"Because I like you," Skips replied. "Isn't that a good enough reason?"

"Who is he?"

"Just someone from my past who won't leave me alone," the yeti continued.

"Why are you here?"

Skips laughed to himself as he listened to Benson ask that. "Cause you told me to be here. You said you wanted to talk, remember?"

"Are you going to tell me everything?" Benson asked, his voice becoming more fierce.

"That depends on the question," Skips answered.

"So you're just gonna keep lying to us, no matter what then?"

"I'm having to do what I need to do to survive, Benson."

"And what about us!" the machine screamed, turning around and throwing the bag on the ground. "What are we supposed to do to survive? Was it really going to be that easy for you to leave us like nothing even ever happened? Was it really so simple to throw away all those years of friendship with me and the staff? And what about that thing that's been chasing after us? You know it's probably going to kill us, even after you leave. How are we supposed to defend against something you won't even tell us what it is?" He kicked the bag on the ground, the remaining contents jumping up.

"Is it really that hard?" Benson asked. "Why can't you be honest with me? We've been working together for this long and you're still keeping things from me. You knew that you could trust me, and you still didn't say anything. And now it's too late. My life is in danger. Don and Pops' lives are in danger. Maellard and the park and everyone are in danger, and you don't want to tell us a damn thing. I want to know, Skips. Please tell me something, anything that's the truth. Tell me about Pestilence, about your past, about why you have feelings for me, just tell me something! I need to know this before it comes for me. That's all I really want to know."

Skips watched his friend slowly lose his grip, begging for him to tell him everything he knew. He looked at the man he had come to love and regretted his actions, causing the twisted madness he had brought the walking machine. He tapped his fingers against the wall, debating whether it was all worth it or not. But one thing stuck out that Benson had just said: he didn't have a lot of time. And knowing Pestilence, it could happen at any moment.

He stared at Benson with all the sincerity he could muster up and skipped over to the gumball machine's favorite chair. "I hope you don't mind me sitting down for this," he grunted as he placed himself on the soft pillowy cushions.

Benson simply offered out his hand to him, and said, "be my guest," in an almost snide and rude manner.

The kettle began to slowly bubble and whistle out in sputter, forcing Benson to turn the heat off. The water was going to go to waste. With nothing to calm his nerves, he relegated to leaning against the counter, and listening to what the yeti had to say.

"So what do you want to know?" Skips asked.

Benson curved his eyes into a scowl and crossed one of his legs over another. "Tell me what he is. I want to know exactly what it is that's ruining everyone's life at the park."

"Funny you should ask that," the beast bemoaned, "because I'm not entirely sure what he is either. He's much older than me; just as old as Death. I think he and Death are the one of the only two originals for when the universe was created."

"Originals?"

Skips nodded and leaned back into the chair. "This is all going off what Gary told me, but there were four of them in the beginning, along with the Gods of Youth. I think two of them died, but kept getting replaced. Death and Pestilence are supposed to be the originals though, changing their faces and forms to fit with the times. That's about as much as I know about their past. Now if you want to know about them personally…"

Skips shifted a little in the seat and leaned back to try and relax as he explained. "You already know about the trouble I have with Death. He doesn't really like me, or at least he gives off that impression. Truth is, he and I have sort of long standing friendly rivalry. We're not really enemies, but if he had the chance to reap my soul, he'd throw all of it out the window. He scares me like you wouldn't believe."

It almost shocked Benson to hear those words come out of Skips' mouth. He never thought the yeti could even use words that describe fear for himself.

"But I can get along with Death just fine," he continued. "Pestilence on the other hand… I don't know what's up his butt. He's had it out for me since he found out about me."

"Why is that?" Benson asked.

"I don't know," Skips sighed. "I really, honestly, don't know Benson. He just showed up out of the blue one day and just started torturing me. Every so often, usually every couple of centuries, when it gets to the point that I'm about to really settle down and relax, he comes in and screws things up. I really don't know what his problem is."

"And you're being honest?" Benson wondered. "You're not pulling my leg or anything. You really don't know why it is that this thing is always following you around?"

"Not a clue," the yeti answered. "Death would probably know something, but I've never gotten around to ask him. Death's too busy anyways, and he and I aren't on the best of speaking terms. I tried asking Gary once, but he didn't know much either. That thing is a mystery to even the Gods of Youth. He's too much of a loose cannon to be controlled, but obedient enough to do their bidding."

As much as Benson wanted to believe that Skips was hiding something, he believed every word he said. That creature seemed to be too random and sporadic for it to make any sense whatsoever. The only person who would probably know why they were attacking Skips and his families, would be the assailant himself. Benson curled his fists up in anger and huffed out some air.

He decided to change the subject slightly. "About the basement," Benson began, "why didn't you tell me about it after you buried him?"

"I was afraid of how you'd react," Skips said. "Not to mention anything else you might have asked or done to follow that up. I guess I should have come clean with the truth, shouldn't I? I think maybe I was too worried you'd treat me like some sort of monster or something. I was still trying to figure out what I was to you at the time. I don't think I was in love with you just yet, but… there was something."

"And what about us?" Benson asked. "When did that happen?"

Skips chuckled under his breath and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm a curious kind of guy, Benson. I never intended to fall in love with anyone, to be honest. I already knew the repercussions my immortality would have on all the people I would eventually care about. But everyone I meet is just so… so… interesting." He laughs and pulls himself forward in his seat. "I can't help it. I see pointed ears, or gills, or fangs, or a different color skin, or someone being a gumball machine, and I can't help but wonder about those features. I want to get to know them better, and understand them. I'm kind of unique myself, you know. Don't see many yetis around the world now, do ya?"

His hands rest on his thighs as he continues to press onward. "But every so often, when I get to know someone like that, I can't help but think… that maybe we're the same. That maybe, I don't have to keep skipping around the world anymore trying my best to understand it. Maybe I'm not as unique or solitary as I thought. So I fall in love with them based on that idea. It's very strange, considering the people I've ended up sharing a bed with, but I can't help it.

"When I met you, I thought you were just another strange creature to be understood. So I asked the usual questions about who you are, and what you are, and all that sort of stuff. But then, the more I listened to you, the more I came to enjoy your personality. Not just that, either. It was the way you talk, and move, and how you have gear ticks instead of a heartbeat. It's like how I still don't understand how those gumballs work as a brain or something, or why you're so cold all the time when I touch you." The behemoth's fingers graze over each other as small memories fluttered back to him. "I know that it sounds a little odd, and probably a little stalkerish, but I can't help it. I can't help being curious about you."

Skips sighed and looked at his playful fingers. He could still feel the cold hard metal against the tips, and the shiver that usually followed from the gumball machine when he touched him. He thought about all the discussions the two had about each other, usually more one sided toward Benson, as Skips rarely liked to talk about himself. He cherished those memories, just as he cherished all the ones from all the people he once knew.

"So what do you want to know then?" Benson asked him with arms folded.

The yeti looked at him with a cocked eyebrow and confused grin. "What are you talking about?"

"It's just as I said," Benson went on. "What do you want to know? If you're curious about me, then you should just ask what it is about me you want to know."

"I can ask anything?" Skips pondered out loud.

"Absolutely anything," Benson replied.

"Well that's an easy one," Skips laughed. His smiles turned deathly serious though as he stood up from the chair and looked at Benson. "What do you think of me?"

The gumball machine sighed through his nose, knowing full well that that question was going to be asked. He had actually hoped for a couple of starter questions before delving into the big topic, but that wasn't going to be happening anytime soon it seemed like.

He stood there for a few moments before finally answering Skips. "You're my friend," he said softly. "You're the probably the best friend I've ever had. Though, I'm not so sure anout that anymore, to be honest."

"Why is that?" Skips asked.

Benson's arms folded upward, sliding along his arms as if trying to gather warm. "Because of all of this. I don't know if I can even trust you anymore. Then you come along and tell me you have feelings for me, and then I don't know how to feel. You hurt me like you wouldn't believe, and then you go and turn around and tell me you've cared about me in that way? How am I supposed to react, Skips? I'm angry and confused. I want to beat you up, but I want to… to make sure you're still with me in the end. I want everything to work out between us, but I don't even know if that's possible anymore."

Skips shook his head and stepped forward. "I didn't want this to happen, you gotta believe me. If I could go back and change things, I would."

"How would you change things?" Benson asked him.

"Well that's easy," Skips laughed uncomfortably. "I just wouldn't get on the elevator that day. I'd just find a job somewhere else, and…"

"Do you even listen to yourself!" the automaton screamed. "You'd sacrifice what you made and what we all had so nothing happens to us? You wouldn't even have known us if you didn't get on the elevator. You would have just ended up doing the same thing with a different group of people. Do you honestly believe that standing there and saying that everything would have worked out better if you never met us would be better? Because you know it wouldn't!"

"What do you want me to say then?" Skips yelled back. "You're sending me all these mixed signals, Benson. You say you hate me, and then you like me, and that you can't trust me, and I'm your friend. What am I supposed to say to any of that? What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do? What do you want to happen?"

"I WANT THINGS BACK TO THE WAY THEY WERE!" Benson shrieked. "I don't want to be chased around by some monster, afraid it's going to kill me at any moment. I don't want to be hit on and desired by all these people all of a sudden, while my ex-girlfriend runs around with her husband. I want my best friend back from the dead, I want you to be happy for me. I want Mordecai and Rigby to listen to me, and I want Maellard to respect me! I want…" He clung to the counter as his knees began to give out. "I just want things to get easier for me."

He finally fell to his knees and began to beat the carpet. "Something has to get better for me, doesn't it? Someone has to wake me up somehow from this bad dream. I can't take all this stress anymore. I just want things to be easier for once. No monsters, no back talk, no romance, no nothing. I just want peace!"

His face began to turn red, not from anger or anguish, but from the seized and pent up feelings that were slowly trickling their way out. He didn't want to have another breakdown. He had had too many of them the past few days. He gulped away his feelings and began to breath heavily, deafening his hearing as he listened to himself.

Skips approached him, and knelt down to his level. He took the gumball machine's hands into his and leaned forward so their foreheads met. "Let's just go away," he cooed to him. "Just me and you. We can travel all over the world, see the sites, and live. I won't let him get to you. He won't ever find us if we keep moving around. We can happy. It can be easy, like you wanted." His hands wiggle around, finding the empty spaces between Benson's finger and clasping his own down, joining them into a chain that melded the two men together. "Just like I want…"

He moaned happily and leaned in to kiss the man. Benson flinched at first, but leaned into it. His mind no longer knew what it wanted anymore, but this little bit of solace went a long way. It sent little trembles all over his gears and made everything around him seem so insignificant in scale. But it was over far too quickly as Skips pulled away. The weight of the world returned to Benson and he began to whimper.

His body started to shake and he closed his eyes to keep the cruel world away. "I can't," he sobbed, already feeling the slick solution form in his eyes. "I really want to, but I can't. I can't leave things like this. It's gone on too long, Skips. I just can't leave." Benson sniffled and did his best to keep in the angst, but it finally became too much for him. His tears began to pour and his sobs became loud and uncontrollable: the floodgates had finally broken.

Benson could no longer control what his body did, or the thoughts that came to him. He was weak now. He had no more strength to carry on this losing battle both in the real world, and within himself. Disgust grew deep within himself when he saw just how pathetic he had become.

Skips couldn't stand to hear these cries. He didn't want to hear them from someone he cared about so deeply. They only reminded him of what he lost in the past, and his own tears that he spilled from them. His grip on Benson's hands tightened as he rubbed his nose against the bridge of the young man's. The little jolt's of compassion he was giving Benson only fueled his torment further, to the point where Benson began to do his best to run away. Everything was crumbling, and Skips knew this. He couldn't let this happen again. He didn't want to have to start over again.

"Then I'll stay," he finally said.

Benson's sobbing slowly began to wane. His eyes glanced deeply into the yeti's as his gears ticked into overtime. "You're going to stay?"

Skips nodded. "Yes, I promise. I'm staying this time. I won't leave, you have my word." His voice almost sounded panicked, afraid of losing something important.

Benson didn't believe it though. His instincts told him that this was another ploy. "I don't know if I can trust you. How do I know you just aren't stringing me along?"

The beast knew that his integrity was going to come into question. But he continued to look Benson in eyes and said something that he rarely told another soul.

"I'm afraid to die," he said to Benson.

Benson flinched.

"I'm afraid to die, Benson," Skips continued. "That's why I'm immortal. I made my deal with the Gods of Youth so that I wouldn't have to die. I can't stand the thought. I don't know what lies beyond the end. Is it paradise, is it a hell? Do we just repeat the same life over and over and over again? What if there's nothing? What if I never get to see everyone I left behind again? I can't think about it without scaring myself."

It showed too. Skips' eyes had left Benson and were moving around all over the place. The shock or his fear was actually causing the behemoth to quake and pant uncomfortably.

"And I'm telling you this," he went on, "because it's something that I've rarely told anyone. So that you know that you can trust me. I don't want to die because Death scares me too much. I don't want him to take my soul. But I don't like it when he takes everyone I care for." He rubs his forehead against Benson's, and closes his eyes tight. "I'm a bigger coward than you think. I can't even stand to see their faces anymore. I have trouble going near the funerals anymore."

Benson looked at Skips and then at himself. There was a dense mood of trauma about the two of them. Neither of them wanted to freely admit it, but they were both broken beyond repair. No amount of love, friendship, or hope was going to fix either one of them.

"Skips," Benson whispered. "Look at me."

The yeti opened his eyes, just in time to have Benson kiss him. The gumball machine released them of their chained hold and brought his hands up to the yeti's neck and cheek. The soft fur and flesh against his cold metal hand was refreshing and a sort of blessing in its own right. He didn't know why exactly he was doing this, or even what the point of it was, but he needed it. They needed it.

Skips returned the kiss, slowly opening his mouth and letting his tongue explore the inside of Benson's mouth. It surprised him just how cool but soft the gumball machine's mouth was. There was a tongue, and cheeks, and teeth, and everything that was there for the usual living thing, but he was a machine. It didn't make a lick of sense. But it was unique. It caused a shiver to go right down his spine as he let a moan escape in the breaths between.

Benson could feel a warm blush creep over his face as he fought against Skips in his mouth. He acknowledged it, and even admired it, but always ended up underestimating Skips' strength in all things, including this. He grip against his fur tightened, as he relented and let the beast attack the inside of his mouth. Benson let out a high pitched moan he felt the appendage slide along the roof of his mouth and cheek.

He pulled away from their kiss, feeling his gears heat up in need and want. He gritted his teeth and looked into his lover's eyes passionately. "Bedroom?" he asked curiously in a childish tone.

The yeti smiled evilly, and brought the gumball machine up to his feet, before rushing at him, and pinning him against the kitchen counter. He ravished the gumball machine's mouth again, both their hands searching against each other in a steadfast pace.

Skips began to feel at all the bumps and curves of the gumball machine, clawing at them, playing with them, listening to the sounds that escaped Benson's mouth into his own. Reversely, Benson's hands reached for Skips jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper, leaving them undone as he returned to their kiss.

The heat and cold between them mixed into some sort of passionate reaction of lust and fever. There was no real love between the two from the actions they gave. Whatever it was, they were having trouble stopping themselves from attacking one another, wanting to hear the sounds, feel their touch, and force the other one into submission before the other.

But just so quickly, they stopped – looking at each other and their bodies. Skips' excitement was hidden, though obvious through the tight black briefs he wore underneath his jeans. However, Benson's was more apparent as his flap was completely flipped up, twitching with anticipation against his crank.

"So, ummmm," Skips finally spoke. "Why are we doing this?"

The direct approach. Neither one of them had an answer to that. The absurdity of the situation was laughable. It just happened so quickly and randomly that the both of them let out a chuckle, unaware of what it was they were even laughing at.

"This is weird," Benson giggled, wiping his brow of the forming sweat. "Why ARE we doing this?" he asked with the same quizzical tone as the yeti.

"I don't know," Skips laughed. "I really don't."

"I think we have problems, Skips," Benson returned the laugh. "I think we both just finally snapped and decided to consummate our insanity with some steady love making. That sounds about right, don't ya think?"

The yeti laughed and followed it with a groan. "This is wrong. This is really wrong."

Benson nodded and tried to relax against the counter. "We definitely have problems if we're trying to sleep with each other while there's a homicidal monster out there who's kidnapped our friends. What are we even thinking?"

The mood steadily turned serious has they thought about what they had just done. A wave of guilt swept up across the two of them as their bodies tried to return to normal.

Benson's thoughts shifted over to Pops and Don, and if they were alright. He thought about Pestilence, and when it'll attack him. And finally, he wondered about Veronica and what her place in this whole game was. He had more questions than answers, and couldn't stand that. He groaned unhappily and felt his headache slowly come back.

A soft wetness pressed against the area where his head and body met, and looked down to find Skips kissing the area tenderly. Hands were already caressing the machine's sides, slowly gliding up and down, sending warm bits of excitement to Benson.

"Th-that's enough, Skips," Benson pleaded. "Now's not the time for this."

Skips eyes looked up at the grim face of his love, and smiled coolly at it. "You need this. It's a little selfish, and not really in good taste considering the situation… but you need it." His lips moved ever slowly lower, kissing and playfully licking at his crank.

"Ah," Benson gasped. "N-n-no. Not right now, Skips. I'm fine. I don't need this."

The yeti refused to stop though. "You haven't been thinking clearly for the past few weeks. You need something to let go of, Benson. And if I can help you somehow by doing this, then I want to. You need to think about yourself too, ya know."

"But I don't want to," Benson moaned. "We have to worry about the oth-ooo-others…" He was having trouble forming full coherent sentences at that point. He knew enjoying this and allowing it to continue was wrong on many levels. After all, there were far more important things to deal with. But he still continued to let it happen. He unconsciously muttered out Skips' name, and knew that his baser instincts were beginning to take over.

Sweet kisses and playful use of his mouth caught Benson up in a sea of small delights as he gripped at the edge of the counter and tried to hold on tight. His mind was beginning to splinter as all of his thoughts melded into one single consciousness, screaming a thousand different voices in his head, and telling him what he was doing was neither right nor wrong, but necessary. He wanted this. He needed this. For once, he wanted to let go and just follow along with what was happening. He didn't want to lead everyone to a better tomorrow, or try to find a way to fix everything. Benson just wanted something to go his way for a change. He wanted this attention badly.

And then it stopped. His consciousness was aware again as the sensations ceased suddenly. He looked down at Skips, confused and curious. The yeti had stopped halfway down the body, looking at Benson's open flap the tunnel that laid ahead. "What's wrong?" Benson finally had to ask.

Skips blushed. He actually blushed. Benson nearly dropped to the ground when he saw that.

"So, uh," Skips said embarrassed, "how do I… you know… get your gears going?"

Benson returned his blush and smiled with some embarrassment in the crimson shade. "Oh, wow," he coughed. It was odd to hear someone ask him about something like that. To Dave and Veronica, it was second nature, but Skips – who knew nothing on how to get a living machine off – was completely left in the dark. "There's a sort of gear area that's open, a little way through the tunnel. You just gotta turn it with your fingers." He felt like he was trying to talk to a child, which made the whole thing that much more humorless to him.

A thought crossed Benson's mind as he pondered the act between the two of them. "What about you?" he asked the yeti. "How do I work with your… thingie?"

Skips went wide eyed and stared vacantly at him. "You mean you've never…?"

"Not with a mammal," Benson blurted out, "and especially not with a... male mammal. The only two people I've ever really done anything with was Veronica and Dave, and we were all the same species. I've seen a few things on the internet with mammals and all that. But I don't think I've seen one between someone like you, and someone like me." Benson had never felt more embarrassed in his entire life. Stuff like this was meant to be an essentiality. It was supposed to be a second nature trait that all living things knew how to do.

Skips simply laughed seductively at him, and stepped out of his unzipped jeans. With them gone, Benson had a full view of the noir undergarments Skips sported. They were low cut, and tight on him. Stuff like that was usually reserved for porn stars and models. But he fit them out well. Benson couldn't take his eyes off them, let alone the excitement that was hiding inside them.

A strange sense was taking over the gumball machine: his feet were quivering, his grip on the counter was tightening, his eyes were constantly moving around Skips body, repeatedly returning to the remainder of his clothes covering up his prize. The caring and wanting expression on the yeti's face only made it worse. A kind of hunger was building inside of Benson, even going as far as causing his once dry with fear embarrassment mouth to water and salivate for something. It was humiliating and exciting to him. He hadn't felt that way in a long time.

The yeti sighed and stood up, and began to kiss at the man's neck area again. "So then," Skips whispered seductively. "You want to explore first to get a better 'look around'?"

Something suddenly clicked and jumped inside him, and he felt something roll out of himself and out of track. It fell to the floor and bounced a couple of times before rolling away.

Skips looked at it was total shock on his face and looked up at Benson.

"W-w-what?" Benson flustered. "I was excited."

"You like me that much, huh?" Skips laughed.

"Hey," the gumball machine snapped sternly. "I haven't done anything like this with anyone in who knows how long. I'm doing my best to make sure I don't go off too early or anything, so try not to rub it in or anything." He paused and let out a sigh. "You do have a nice body though."

Skips smiled gratefully at him and leaned in to give him another kiss on his neck area. One of his hands walked its fingers along Benson's abdomen, sliding along the smooth painted frame, and slowly treading inside the opening. His fingers felt at the walls and ceiling of the machine's insides, causing Benson grunt and whimper from the sensitivity.

Even those little touches were enough to drive the automaton wild. Another gumball fell from within him, as his body shook with anticipation and excitement. He was afraid if Skips kept this up, he might lose himself too soon and spoil the mood for the both of them. But the yeti was treating him with such compassion and gentle caring, that it was hard for Benson not to get overly excited.

Skips looked from the opening to Benson's face and smirked at the reactions he was getting. He couldn't help but let out a small chuckle when Benson grabbed at his fur and puffed out some incoherent mumbling. And then, Skips found what he had been told about. Right there, just on the outside of the release mechanism, he felt a small gear scrunched up in the corner inside. He glided his finger along the ridges just to get a good feel for it. Benson twitched from the feeling and gripped onto Skips tighter. The yeti's expression twisted into something almost ravenous, and with a swift action, turned the gear down fast.

But the reaction was less than desirable as Benson clutched at his stomach, and fell to the ground. Pain erupted around him, and he curled into a ball, holding his abdomen and privates. Skips face switched to concern and guilt, and knelt down quickly to take care of the gumball machine.

"I did something wrong, didn't I?" he asked quickly.

Benson grimaced but waived away the worry. "It's fine," he coughed out. "I should have warned you first. When you play with that thing, you need to be really slow about it till I'm used to the feeling. Afterwards, then you can turn it as fast as you want." He continued to breath sporadically and hold himself, waiting for the pain to subside.

Skips scratched the back of his head and tried to laugh it off, but couldn't help but feel terrible about what just happened. "Anything I can do to help you feel a little better?"

"I'm fine," Benson assured him. "I just need a little time to recoup is all."

The other man nodded and sat to wait. It was certainly a mood killer – something he was doing his best to try and avoid. Skips wondered how he could make this ordeal any worse.

But just then, as he was sitting feeling bad for himself, Benson began to laugh. It wasn't a painful laugh, or the kind that was meant to break a silent. It was the kind of laugh that sent a person to stitches and was filled with joy all over. Skips watched as Benson slowly sat up and laugh.

"This is insane," the machine chuckled. "If it were anyone else, I'd of probably thrown them out by now. But when it's you, Skips, I just can't help but laugh and forget about it." He blushed slightly and looked at Skips with care. "I guess I like you more than I thought I did." He placed his hands on the floor and began to crawl toward the yeti.

Skips was gently assaulted with kisses all around his mouth, cheeks, and neck. With that, he felt the remorse disappear into nothing, replaced with a sense of contentment and want. The euphoria was beginning to surge through his body again as he relaxed and enjoyed Benson's gift to him.

He shivered when he felt a hand slowly make its way under his briefs and fold its fingers around his member. The cold of the metal caused his teeth to clink down at first as the cold spread to his other extremities, but eventually grow used to it. It was a new feeling, but considering who it was coming from, he enjoyed it. He was given another passionate kiss on the lips, as they began to dance inside each others mouths again.

Benson knew somewhat what to do, and slowly moved his full hand up and down, creating a small rhythmic motion for the yeti. He must have been doing something right, considering it caused Skips to release his kiss and mutter out the machine's name, requesting to go a little faster. He did such, and was gratefully rewarded with more pleasurable moans and groans, as well as small bits of lust that were kissed against his body.

"So this is good, right?" Benson asked. His tone was serious. He wasn't sure if what he was doing was right or wrong.

Skips quivered from the pleasure and nodded his head. "Yeah," he said in a lusting tone. He smiled as the quivers continued to electrify him.

"Good then," the machine coughed out. He was glad he hadn't screwed up yet.

But even Benson too began to shake as he felt Skips fingers crawl their way inside of him again. They reached up the tunnel, a little faster than before, and found the gear. The gumball machine let out a little breath, and watched the face of the yeti change to a devilish grin. The gear was then pressed down a single tick.

Benson stopped his own work and let the tiny sensation of pain sweep over him. He was used to that part. When Skips saw it pass though, he clicked down again, forcing another quake within Benson. He continued to click down, slowly creating his own motion, as the pain in Benson slowly gave way to tiny jolts of pleasure. When his body was familiarized with the feeling, Benson continued to pleasure his love in his own way. He wrapped his free arm around Skips back, using him as a column to keep his balance. His head rested comfortably on the beast's massive shoulders and they continued to play with one another.

They both pondered how long they could continue that and who would be the first to succumb to the others desires. It suddenly became an unspoken game between them, to see who could finish who the first. Even more so, they picked up their paces and motions in an attempt to solicit louder yelps, trying their hardest to make the other scream. The ultimate prize was the total submission of the other. To beg for more, and to ask for other acts and experiences that neither had experienced with the other. But no matter how hard they tried to overpower the other, they were both equally matched in stamina and resolve, and in time their bodies heated up beyond their game, as their passions and lust for one another absolved any other thoughts inside their head.

Their lips could no longer stand to be apart from one another as they reached the cusp of their dance. They released their sighs and gasps of relief in the others mouth, giving the sounds of their carnality into the other. Bodies arched, and a part of themselves were lost into the others palm, but that was beside the point. The actual action or outcome was meaningless to them. Something non-tangible was understood and traded to the other that small brief moment.

Exhaustion began to set in immediately afterwards. But they paid it no mind, and continued to kiss and woo the other. Though their bodies were tired, their passion remained ignited. And when they pulled away from each other finally, they could see their own reflections within the eyes of the other. They saw the looks of love and need inside them, and knew for that instant what was there.

"I'm an idiot," Benson finally said with a smile on his face. "How come I didn't see you like this before?"

"I don't know," Skips laughed. "Maybe you were too busy yelling at Mordecai and Rigby to see it." He said the only thing that could come to his mind at the time. His mind was still covered in images of the gumball machine. He still wanted so much more, but his body just refused to give him the energy for it.

For Benson though, there was no passion or lust anymore – only the image of the person in front of him. Besides that, his mind had completely gone blank. Those little screams and bemoans of the things he had suffered through the past few weeks were finally gone, giving way to the image of the one in front of him. His confidence was revitalized thanks to the site of white fur and muscles.

Even Skips seemed to have a new lease on life. His mind wondered why it was going to be so easy for him to run away from Pestilence. He couldn't leave now, not anymore. He had something he wanted to protect. No... it was something he needed to protect. Not just Benson, but the others too. Skips wanted to protect his home and his family. The image of Benson in front of him gave him that courage to stand up to the creature and tell him no, or he hoped that it would.

But both their thoughts were muddled when a loud banging sounded across them from the front door. Both of them frowned, realizing that their quaint little mood was about to be shattered. Benson looked at his hand and groaned as he noticed he needed to clean up, and Skips saw the large amount of gumballs on the floor and gritted his teeth at the chore.

"Fuck it," Benson said as he got up. He approached the door and turned the knob with his clean hand. "Of course," he said in an unsurprised manner to the person outside.

Mordecai stood outside the apartment looking horrified and disheveled.

"What do you want?" Benson asked in an icy way.

The bird didn't even ask to be invited in. He just stepped in and looked at both Benson and Skips with a pleading feature about him. He was about to say something, when he noticed Benson's other hand, and the fact that Skips was in nothing but his undies with gumballs on the floor. Not to mention that they were both sweaty.

"Dude!" he screamed to the two men. "Were you two just doing the dude-on-dude thing?"

Skips turned a bit red in embarrassment, but Benson gave an unflinching expression to the blue jay and just said a quick, "Yep! You got a problem with that?"

"I do, considering the situation we're in!" Mordecai screamed back. "I mean... right now?"

"What's this about, Mordecai?" Benson quickly snapped. "Skips and I were kind of in the middle of something."

"I can see that," the bird groaned.

"What is it?" Skips finally asked.

The young man shook his head of the ever growing image of Skips and Benson in the act and tried to remember why he was there. It didn't take the reason long to reappear as he remembered the shear amount of fright it drove him to.

"Margaret's gone!"

Benson froze, as did Skips. They knew already who the culprit was. Benson gulped and asked how.

"It was Don," Mordecai said, "but I don't think it was Don. I think Tim is using Don somehow, and he took Margaret and he destroyed the Coffee Shop, and everything's just gone crazy. Margaret just went inside to confront Veronica about what was happening, and then the place was destroyed, Margaret was taken away, and Don and Veronica left together like they know each other, and I don't know what's happening!"

"Where's Eileen and Rigby?" Benson inquired. "Are they alright?"

Mordecai nodded and tried to catch himself. "They're downstairs, still in the car. Rigby's trying to help Eileen right now. She's pretty shaken about the whole thing."

Skips sighed and got up from off the floor. "I can only imagine how you must feel right now," he said to Mordecai.

The bird grabbed at his head, still trying to process everything that had happened. "Please," he pleaded to Skips. "Please get her back. I need her back. I still haven't apologized enough to her about everything."

Skips slipped back into his jeans, opting to clean himself up later. He did however, was his hands in the kitchen sink. But beyond that, with his new found courage, what had just happened to Margaret and everything that transpired before it took top priority. He refused to allow another one of his friends be taken away, or one of his family get hurt. "I'll take care of it," Skips replied.

"Me too," Benson assured him. "We're gonna get Margaret and everyone back. There's no way in Ooo that I'm gonna let that creep do anything else to anyone else."

"Count me in then," Mordecai answered to the two of them.

"No," Skips stopped. "This is too much for you and the others. You, Rigby, and Eileen need to go and hide. We're finishing this up tonight."

Benson smiled at him, knowing that he seriously meant it.

"He's right, Mordecai," the machine said to the bird. His frown led way to a smile that compassionately cared for the boy. "Skips and I can take care of this ourselves. You and everyone else go hide somewhere for the night. Tell Muscle Man and High Five Ghost too."

Mordecai shook his head and clamped his beak down childishly. "But I need to help her!"

"LEAVE IT TO US!" Benson yelled. "We're going to get her back, I promise. Just like we're getting Don and Pops back too. Just let us handle it."

The bird could see the utter hate for Pestilence in the gumball machine's eyes, as well as in the yeti's. He knew they were going into this battle whether they wanted to or not. "Fine," he said, turning around and leaving. "But if you guys can't do anything about it, I'm finishing what you guys started!" And he was gone.

Young and fool hearty. They all were in a sense.

Benson looked over to Skips, and smiled at him. "Alright," he sighed. "What do we do then?"

Skips skipped past the machine, patting him on the back as he too left the apartment. "Go wash your hands and just follow me," he said to Benson. "I know how to handle this. We just need the right kind of help though."

"What kind of help?" Benson asked as he rushed to the sink to clean his hands up.

Skips smiled and continued onward. "The kind that's going to cost millions of dollars."

**Be Human – **_Yoko Kanno_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

There ya go! That M-rating really helped drive along this chapter didn't it. That scene in particular was just a blast to write. So many theories go around about Benson and that specific act, so I just decided to throw one of my many theories into the ring there. Very strange, but it does make you wonder: how would a machine like that actually get his marbles off? Hahaha! Next chapter is a doozy of one, folks! TONS of action and brings us closer to the climax of the story. See you all then!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	26. Mermaid

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
><strong>**Mermaid**

Skips and Benson led the way toward their destination. The yeti kept both hands solidly on the steering wheel, keeping his determination to press forward as apparent as he could make it. He was tired and ready to have this ordeal finished at long last. If today was going to be the last day of his life, then he had no regrets, if it meant putting an end to the thing that had been tormenting him a good portion of his immortal years. He looked over at Benson and smiled at him, knowing that their personal difficulties were over at least.

"We're going to see Maellard, aren't we?" the machine asked as he let the wind glide over his body.

"You guessed it," the yeti quickly replied.

Benson knew just as much and wondered what his friend had in store for the aged man. "You said we were going to need someone worth a lot of money," he continued. "What did you mean by that? Why do we need Maellard?"

Skips smile widened as he turned the steering wheel of the cart a sharp 90 degrees. "You and I already know that Maellard has more money than the gods, yeah?" Benson nodded. "Well, we might need someone with that much money who has some good connections to help us with our plan."

"So that means you have a plan that will actually work?" Benson asked.

"I'm pretty sure I do," Skips replied. "I was thinking about when I had to fight him the last time, when he had possessed that little possum guy, and I remembered that I was able to forcibly remove him from the little rat's body."

"And you think you can do the same with Don?" Benson pondered.

Skips nodded and stepped on the gas. "It's worth a shot. If we're lucky, we might be able to save Don, Pops, and Margaret. I don't have any doubt that he's already swallowed them whole."

Benson shuddered as he listened, remembering the horrible vision of Pestilence's mouth unhinging and eating up the young raccoon. He applied the image to both Pops and Margaret and felt a coldness that he had rarely felt run up along his back.

"We need to hurry," he said, leaning over and pressing his metallic foot over Skips, propelling the golf cart further along in its trek. "I hope you know what you're doing, " he added.

"To be honest," Skips began, "for the first time in a long time, I don't."

That didn't put Benson's mind anymore at ease, but it did accomplish something else. Deep within the back of his head, he felt a solemn connection with the beast right then and there. A sort of symbiotic relationship that had always been seemed to become more apparent to the gumball machine. It was warm and electrifying. He looked up at Skips, who in turn gave a slight glance to him, feeling that same connection. The machine sighed and leaned in closer to the yeti.

"We're gonna make it, right?" Benson asked.

Skips brought his foot up slightly, and slowed the cart down. He took a deep breath and said, "I don't know."

He took a hand off the steering wheel and placed it over Benson's. It felt strange and almost painful to the two of them, but at the same time, seemed familiar.

* * *

><p>The duo didn't even ask permission to come inside, crashing through the gates leading into the Maellard estate. Security scrambled immediately to stop the two, but upon seeing who it was, ceased their worry, and allowed the two to approach the front doors. The cart skidded into one of the support columns, crashing and cracking the foundation of it slightly. Neither the cart nor the column received any real damage, though nobody cared either way. Benson and Skips had already jumped out of their transport and made their way slowly to the front door. They burst in, making their way through the hallways, screaming out Maellard's name.<p>

A swift wind caught them by surprise though, as the gleam of crafted metal blinded them for a split second, and the sound of distortion fell onto them. Skips was quickly caught out guard and forced onto his back, with Benson flinching and stepping away from the sudden shock.

Skips looked up and found an epee pointed at his eye, as Maellard stood on top of him with the grip of the blade in one hand and it's sheath in another. The lolliman looked down with malcontent and kept the end of the weapon close to the yeti's eye with an unmoving resolve.

"Mr. Maellard!" Benson yelled. "It's okay! It's just us!"

"I'm aware of that already!" the man screamed back. "Security already called me and informed me of the ruckus you two were making outside. I've been expecting you two for the past sixty seconds."

Benson looked at Skips and then at the blade. "Then why are you threatening Skips right now."

"Because I'm still bloody angry at him!" he screamed, moving the blade up and slashing it slightly against the man's cheek. It sliced the top layer of skin, but not the flesh. He then quickly sheathed his blade and jumped off Skips. "What do you two want anyways? I'm very busy right now."

"Busy with what?" Skips asked, checking his cheek for blood – none.

"Business," Maellard said as he walked away in a brisk walk, not stopping for anything. "I've been on the phone with other businesses having conferences with my heads and stock holders, and the head of my estate."

Benson frowned and ran up to the man, matching his pace. "You're working on business right now while your son is in the clutches of a monster?" he asked. "Mr. Maellard, shouldn't you be worried about..."

"Don't tell me how to run my business, Benson!" he snapped at his underling. "I have more than enough on my plate right now, and you two being here doesn't help matters. Now either say what you came here to say, or leave. I don't have time for childish games right now." He brushed Benson aside and pushed forward, going faster than before.

The gumball machine stopped and felt his eye begin to twitch in anger. He didn't even need to look at himself to know that his shade was turning red with anger.

"Get your ass back here and listen to us!"

Maellard stopped in his tracks and turned around. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," Benson said through his teeth. "You're going to get your ass over here and listen to me right now."

Maellard slit his eyelids down and tried to assess the gumball machine. Suddenly, there was a sense of determination and commitment on the man's face that he had never seen before, or at least he never noticed. He slowly returned to Benson and stood a foot in front him. "Regale me, boy," he said in as venomous a tone as he could.

Benson gulped. He didn't think the man would actually listen to him. He looked behind him at Skips for a moment, who had only recently picked himself up from the floor. "We all need to figure this out," he said, returning to Maellard. "Now isn't the time to be working at the park, or doing business transactions, or being on conference calls, or being angry at one another. Right now, we need to focus on trying to save Pops and the others. I just found out that he's taken Margaret as well."

That name seemed familiar to Maellard. Who was she again? "The girl who works at the cafe?" he asked.

"That's the one," Benson continued.

The old man shook his head and sighed through his nose. "What a shame... such a beautiful girl and so young. All these young people," he finished, turning away from Benson.

"Yeah," Benson coughed. "Yeah... it's... look, we shouldn't be standing here mourning like they're dead. We still have a chance to save them. Skips has a plan."

Maellard instantly burst into laughter. "Skips?" he chuckled. "You mean the one who's the actual cause of all of this? The man who got my son kidnapped as well as my accountant, and had me act as a red herring to that thing?" He turned around. His face showed off a sarcastic grin and stare. "I thing I'll take my chances with this," he said, holding up his epee. He then returned to his walk back to his office.

Benson and Skips watched him exit the hallway into a room, where a click was heard immediately afterwards. They approached the door and tried to open it – no luck. Skips was about as angry as Benson was at that moment and didn't have the patience to deal with the temper tantrums of a senile old man. He took a few steps back, and skipped as hard as he could into the door, breaking the lock and allowing the two access into the room. The gumball machine walked on in behind Skips, and opened his mouth to berate the man. He took one look around the room, and shut it.

The small office was a mess. Portraits of art and pieces of fine china and vases had been knocked over, leading to broken frames and glass all over the floor. Accompanying the rubble were books upon book of photo albums, their contents ripped out. Pictures of Pops, from birth to present, were scattered all over the place: on the floor, on the desk, by the lamps, near the fire place, even taped on the typewriter and phone. One side of the room however, had these pictures tacked all over the wall, mixed together with images of Pops and a mystery woman whom Benson and Skips had never seen before.

Across from them, Maellard sat in a wooden chair pushed up against the desk. Along with the pictures, various stocks and bonds, as well as contracts and phone numbers were strewn all over the place. Most of the documents had scribblings of some sort or another, mostly with the names of other companies written across them. An electric shredder had been placed next to the desk, with the contents of the garbage pale attached to it, overflowing.

The old man sat with his head propped up against his knuckles, as his elbows kept a steady balance on the desktop. He was shaking slightly, his mind lost in the thoughts that refused to leave. He sighed and looked up and Skips and Benson.

"Should I leave?" asked a voice in the corner of the room. It caught Benson and Skips off guard. They looked over and saw a stern looking middle aged cardinal in business slacks, a white shirt, and black vest alternating his glance at both the duo and Maellard.

"Just go, Nick" Maellard said, shooing his hand to the bird. "We'll finish the merger later."

The cardinal nodded and approached the old man. He leaned down and whispered something in his ear, before straightening up and patting the man sympathetically on the shoulder. He walked past Skips and Benson, cracking his knuckles on the way out.

Benson recognized him from the television some time ago. He owned the ATRS company. But those words that Maellard had said. "Merger?" Benson questioned.

"That's right," the old man sighed. "By this time next week, my company will be owned by someone else, and I will no longer have any power or say in my own company. I've so far successfully found buyers for 30% of my shares in the company from my rivals, and I plan to sell the remaining 70% to Nicholas there."

"But why?" Skips asked.

Maellard chortled slightly, and looked down at his desk. "There's no point to this anymore. My son – my heir – is gone. That boy may have been a hand full, but he was my son. I have no one to carry on my name, let alone carry on my company." His finger fell to a photo and picked it up. The picture was of him, his late wife, and son when he was still a baby. "What's worse, I don't have anyone else. My wife is gone, my son is gone, and all I have is this business. A business that I've been manning most of my life. I gave Pops as much time as I could... but maybe it wasn't enough? I don't know exactly what I should be sad about: my loneliness or my son."

He looked at the photo for a long time and at the happy people in it. He was much younger then, somewhere in his late twenties, early thirties. He couldn't think of the exact date or time, but he remembered the event. He sat on their bed in their mansion at the time, holding his month old son in his arms, while his sickly wife looked on, her image forever still in laughter and love for her boys. He looked on at her smiling face, and could remember the past. The sweet laughter she bellowed, the sounds of a tired and resting Pops, the smell of afternoon bread and tea, and the soft breeze of the cool spring air coming in through the window.

He knew he was crying, but he didn't care. At that point, he didn't care who saw him express those emotions. The natural business etiquette was to show as little emotion as possible – to create a poker face. But that lifeless and always stern expression of strictness was gone, replaced at long last with the humanity that he only showed to one other person. But now, that person was gone, and he didn't know where to go from there.

The photo slipped from his grasp and he buried his face into his palms. He had outlived both his wife and son, and no longer knew where life was taking him. He mentally prayed for some sort of answer from either one of them, but received nothing.

"It hurts," Skips said, breaking the tension. He looked down at the photo and picked it up. "I know the feeling, sir." He looked at it and saw the happy family, before putting it back down. He didn't want to be reminded of his own short comings.

"How would you know!" Maellard screamed at him. "How in the hell would you know what I'm feeling right at his moment!" The man gritted his teeth, looking for a response in the yeti's eyes.

Skips frowned and sighed. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, which he opened up and began to take small photos out of. He laid them next to Maellard and began to point them out, one by one. There were about ten of them, and only about three were legitimate photographs. The rest seemed to be professionally hand drawn, wallet sized pieces of art. One by one, he pointed to them, and explained. He pointed to a drawing of a feline dressed in Victorian garb, and then to another of a human woman in Japanese attire. He switched over to some drawings of a group of children who looked like the yeti in some aspect but held the traits of another species, and then over to a recent photograph of two girls, one of which Benson recognized as the woman from the institution, though younger. But next to her was a somewhat human, though yeti in complexion with white fur and slightly muscular features, embracing her happily.

"These," Skips said, continuing to point, "these are how I know what you are going through. All of them aren't with me anymore. He took each and every one of them away from me without any sense of remorse. Just like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "I know what that thing has done to my family and friends, and now you do too. I don't know about you, but I think it's time we put an end to it before it happens again to another family."

Maellard looked down at all the people in the pictures and shook his head. "It's funny that you think I wasn't planning on doing anything. I already had a plan to begin with."

Benson blinked in confusion and watched Maellard rise from his seat.

"I have an interview with our good friend Connor Wong tonight," he continued. "I intend to use this air time to announce my retirement, as well as call out the creature behind this whole debacle. I intend to make sure the whole world knows of it's existence and becomes a threat to every person on this planet." He smirked and looked up at Skips. The yeti's expression was far from supportive though.

"Are you insane!" Skips asked. "That show is filmed live! The moment you bring his name up and explain who he is..." The yeti stopped and his mind went deep into thought.

Maellard could tell he realized it too, and smiled. "You pick up on things quick. He's a prideful creature, that Pestilence. I'm sure the moment he's exposed he'll be all over me. And in that moment, when I'm staring down the fangs of the beast..." he collected his sword and brought it slightly out of it's sheath. "I intend to do my damnest to make sure the whole world knows him. Even if that means dying on live television."

Benson's eyes went wide from the plan. "But sir, you'll die! Would Pops want you to sacrifice yourself in order to..."

"Don't try to talk me out of it, Benson," Maellard said. "I have no intention of backing down now. I've lived a good life, whether I want to say otherwise or not. I have many regrets, but I know this one won't be one of them. I'm going to make sure that creature is put in its rightful place. And nothing is going to stop me!"

"We will!" Benson argued. "I'm not going to let you go and throw your life away like this! Pops would never forgive me!"

"And you care about me now, Benson?" Maellard countered. His sudden change in expression and tone threw Benson for a loop. "Let's face it, my boy. You just do not like me. I'm not surprised to be honest. I know that I am a ruthless and harsh person to work for. I have been in this business for well over eight or nine decades. It's changed me for the worse, I must admit. I would think of all people, you'd be the one to say good riddance and have a nice day."

Benson looked away from him, but quickly gazed back when the resolve inside him kicked in. "You're damn right I hate you! You've always singled me out in the group, you blame everything on me, you give me the most difficult of assignments, and you only just learned my name recently. If none of this had happened and you keeled over, I'd be the first one to dance all over your grave. Hell, I'd grab Skips here and fuck his brains out silly on the spot where you rested just so you could feel someone doing it on your grave in the afterlife!"

Maellard smiled with a delightfully snide expression, his eyes shooting over to Skips for a moment. It amused him how the gumball machine singled the yeti out of all people to have relations on the place where his corpse was buried.

"But I don't care about that now!" Benson screamed. "All I wanted was for everything to get back to normal. But I don't think that's going to happen anymore. I can't go back to that stupid rut that I was in originally. So, I'm gonna move forward..."

Maellard raised his eyebrow and twirled the sheathed weapon in his hand. "And how are you going to do that, Benturd?" His voice was mocking and malicious.

Benson let out a deep breath and smiled. "I want Pops to take over the company and lead it to success like he wants to, and I want him to stay as happy and carefree as he is now. I want Don to find someone for him so he doesn't always have to be stressed and alone. I want Margaret and Mordecai to get together and fall in love like they wanted to from the start. I want the park to be the same way it's always been. I want you to be a good father and a better boss to us at the park." He turned his attention to Skips and blushed with a grin. "And I don't want to feel so alone anymore. I want to be with someone who cares about me, no matter how much of a maniac I am."

Skips laughed and placed hand on the machine's shoulder. That familiar pain and pleasure of touch surged through them again. That weren't yet used to these ideals, but they wanted to be.

"A happy ending?" Maellard whispered. "Do you think they really exist?"

Maellard curiously observed Benson and saw something new in the boy. He saw a reflection of himself – a much younger version in fact. Though he knew that Benson was much older than he looked, he saw a youthful ambition that he hadn't seen since he himself was in his twenties. It was a headstrong feeling of resilience that couldn't be faltered. It was powerful and could deflect the strongest of blows.

This was the man he had hired. He remembered the first time seeing Benson and immediately wanting to dismiss him. But there was something inside the machine that told him to keep him on. Maellard listened to this voice and gladly hired on the man, believing that in time, he would show his worth. At long last, that time had come, and it was time for Maellard to see if his decision to keep Benson around was truly a worth while one. If this man thought he could make everything right and attain something that he thought impossible, then it was worth it to let him try at least.

A gust came through the cold and desolate fireplace, and hit him with a freezing chill. Rain was coming, and he could feel it in his bones. It would be the perfect environment for a final showdown. Maellard may be a man of business and morals, but inside him was that same childish charm and excitement that his son had as well. Perhaps he understood what his son was truly like at last.

He looked at the two men in front of him, and sighed once again before sitting down in the desk chair. His scabbard with the blade still inside found a home on top of his desk. He began to tap at it and nod. "Alright then, gentlemen," he said to the beast and the machine, "tell me what your plan is."

Skips and Benson smiled at one another. This was their chance – their only chance. They pulled up some chairs next to the desk, and sat down.

"It was a little more involved than what you had," Skips began, "but I didn't know if it would work out not. But I think if we combine some of the elements of your plan and mine..."

Small whispers between the three began to fill the room, as if each and every person in the photos had begun to talk of their own free will. Their little group of three became an army, and they all felt as if nothing could stop them.

Skips believed their was hope.

Benson believed they could succeed.

Maellard believed in the two men he planned with.

The clock on the wall read 3:52pm. Just a couple of hours until showtime.

* * *

><p>Maellard sat in the guest chair of the studio with Connor Wong a few feet away, conversing with his assistant, Kat Scarlata. His heart was racing as he tried to remember all the things he was supposed to do. His hands shook as every second ticked away, coming closer to the start of the show.<p>

"It's always a pleasure having you here, Maellard," Connor said in a snide tone. "Your shows always bring in the best ratings, I'd have to say. And with this rumor going around that you'll be retiring... I have to say I'm actual excited about tonight's interview."

Maellard felt his nose twitch from the very sound of his interviewers voice. He had known it all too well, but still could never get over how audacious and truly annoying it was. He did his best to shake through it, and gave the man a smile. "I guarantee you," he started, "that tonight's show is going to be one the whole world is going to remember. I have a few surprises in store."

"As do I," the middle age reporter chortled. He sniffed his nose and looked down at a long box in Maellard's lap. "What's in the box?"

"The surprise," Maellard whispered with a smirk.

Connor didn't like the look on his face and frowned. "Well I hope you brought enough for everyone," he snipped. Whatever the old man had planned, he didn't like it.

"Just two," the old lolliman sighed. "But they are for one person. And it's more than enough."

Connor looked at his assistant, who in turn gave him the same expression. Regardless of what Maellard had in mind, tonight's show was going to be a doozy of an event. The girl scattered away behind the camera as a sound man screamed that the show would begin in less than fifteen seconds.

Maellard's breathing increased. The countdown had begun already. As someone from the crew began to count down the seconds, he looked to the picture he had mourned over, stashed in his pocket. It gave him a jump in strength, causing his nervousness to subside temporarily. The opening title zoomed on by, and the show had officially begun.

"Good evening! I'm Connor Wong," the man introduced himself. "Joining me tonight is my favorite regular and long time 'friend'..."

Maellard let out a very loud and drawn out cough.

"...well, I suppose I don't need to introduce you anymore do I, Mr. Maellard?"

"I suppose not," Maellard replied.

Connor nodded and situated himself in his seat. "Now, let's get down to brass tacks, shall we? These past few days have seen you been acting quite sporadic, as many of the people watching at home can tell. There's been rumors around the industry that you are retiring from your business. Is this correct?"

Maellard nodded and said: "I can confirm the existence of those rumors, yes. You'd have to be quite deaf not to hear them."

"Quite," Connor repeated. "But there's another rumor going around town too. It involves you preparing to sell off your assets to rival companies. And I say the word rumor loosely, considering that it's already been confirmed by three companies that have given us dates for when you officially sell off your stock to them – local companies in fact."

"What can I say?" Maellard grinned. "I like to support the local businesses. Even my company started off as a simple mom and pop store."

The interviewer nodded and continued. "How honorable of you... but speaking of pop: I heard that the reason behind your sudden change in nature from cold hearted old biddy, to generous 'saint', was brought on by the sudden disappearance of your son. A disappearance that has not been reported on until this very second."

A few of the crew began to whisper this and that behind one another. Even if a person wasn't savvy in business, Maellard's name was still some what known around. The disappearance of his son, and his selling of the companies was a big deal not only on the business side of things, but the economy as well.

"Can you confirm this?" Connor asked with an evil eye.

Maellard grimaced and felt the corner of his lip twitch slightly. He took in a deep breath, and tried to calm his nerves. "Yes, I can." The atmosphere in the room grew more dense with confusion as he said those words. "My son, Pops Maellard, was kidnapped directly from my own corporate headquarters no more than two days ago."

Even Connor was slightly surprised by Maellard's sudden confession. None the less, he kept on with the questions. "I see... you have my deepest sympathies. So then, why the sudden wish to sell all of your assets?"

Maellard leaned back in his seat and slumped a bit. This unnerved the host, who grew accustomed to the old man's proper and perfect business etiquette.

"Pops was meant to be the next in line to run the company," Maellard said, looking slightly distant. "I'm getting on in years, Connor, my boy. If my son is not here to take over the family business, then it's my duty to make sure it goes to the proper investors who can take care of it."

Connor continued to listen and nod along. "And the rumor is that the majority of the stock will be sold off to ATRS industries, yes?"

"That is correct."

"Any word on when the full merger will take place?"

"It technically already has," Maellard grinned. "That is, if one condition happens."

"And that would be?" Connor asked with a curious flinch of the eye.

Two clicks sounded around the old man. The metal locks on the box in his lap were left limp and undone. "The merger is complete if I don't survive this interview."

Everyone in the room looked at each other with confusion, unsure if what he said could be treated seriously or not. Even Connor exchanged a glance to Kat, who held an expression of fear on her face. The two men remained deathly silent for a few seconds, sending an ominous chill down the audiences spines. This interview no longer seemed so ordinary or regular.

"What do you mean by that?" Connor gulped. Part of him was scared shitless, but the other side of him was excited about the potential ratings this dialogue could bring in.

Maellard frowned and showed off his teeth in a menacing fashion. "Tell me something, Connor. Do you remember the issues we had with my park a few weeks ago?"

Connor nodded without saying a word. His eyes shot back to Kat, who was moving the wrist of her hands in a circular motion to keep him talking. "Y-yes," he stuttered, "I remember."

"That thing is what took my Pops," Maellard continued. "We had thought all along that it was after my neck, but it turns out it was actually only after one of my staff. He's no longer employed with me mind you, but I'm afraid the damage has already been done."

Connor frowned slightly and leaned away from the man's direction slightly. His confusion persisted all over him, until that one little piece seemed to fall into place. "This thing... it took your son?"

"And my accountant," Maellard said, tapping the box with his fingers, "as well as a beautiful young woman who works at the local cafe that I own."

"Three people!" Connor nearly yelled. "My God... why weren't the police notified?"

Maellard took in another deep breath, and exhaled. "They were with Don, and Pops was just the other day. The woman, I'm afraid, was taken earlier this afternoon, as confirmed by her friends."

"I see," the host coughed. He looked over to Kat. Their eyes met and understood the sudden danger of the situation. The woman quickly pulled out her radio, and alerted security. Within seconds, armed men entered the studio and went on full alert.

"This creature sounds dangerous," Connor went on.

"He's more than dangerous," Maellard replied. "He's a pestilence on this city, and the whole world. He's a constant and, unfortunately, necessary evil around us."

"And what's its name?" Connor asked.

Maellard smirked. "Exactly what I just said: Pestilence."

Connor's face twisted into a disgusted expression of bewilderment and amusement. He thought the man might have been joking at first, but the look on Maellard's face showed how deathly serious he was.

"It turns out he was my body guard originally, Timothy Reynolds," Maellard explained. "Now he's off masquerading around as my former accountant, Don."

Connor gulped again and tried to remain calm. "So he can assume other people's forms? Much like the shape shifting serial killer, Doug?"

"Something like that," Maellard answered. "What he really looks like is a giant piece of wandering black ooze with eyes all over it's body and angry little blade like appendages sprouting out here and there."

Connor and Kat kept looking at each other, expecting something to pop out and scare them any second. They weren't sure if now was a good time to cut to commercial or not. This was good television, but the air in the room was turning malicious and foreboding.

Maellard then reached into his pocket and brought out a sheet of paper. "With the help of my former employee – the one who Pestilence was really after – we have been able to compound a list of all the people in the past that the creature has been."

The host leaned forward in his desk. If what Maellard was saying was the truth, then that list was worth more than all the gold and platinum on the planet. "And you've come to divulge this list of names to us?"

"Perhaps," Maellard smiled. "If this list of names goes out, it would cause quite a stir in the business community as well as cause a bit of a crisis among normal citizens as well. Who's to say who he could be or not. And much like Doug, do we really need a international fear of who could be who?"

This was television at its finest, Connor thought. That list needed to be heard. Screw commercials. They could pay off the advertisers later. "The floor is all yours, Maellard."

The old man continued to grin, and clear his throat. "It'll be much easier to find him, I'm sure, once people know who he's been and what he can do." He opened his mouth to say the first name. "Don, the raccoon accountant." He sighed momentarily, knowing that it would destroy the boy's career, but it was the only way. "Timothy Reynolds, my former bodyguard."

He looked around the room for any change, and continued. "Barnaby, the possum CEO of ATRS Industries."

There was a small gasp around the room when that name was announced.

"Well then," Connor began, "that explains the sudden fallout and breakdown in the companies policies a long time ago. Anyone else?"

Maellard opened his mouth again, but was silence when a black ethereal hand appeared out of the shadows and held his mouth shut.

"That's enough of that," Pestilence said, stepping out in Don's skin with the same suit he had worn as Timothy.

The camera quickly panned over to him, but was destroyed before any image could be seen. Connor and the crew backed away, and the broadcast was terminated right then.

"That is a very fool hardy thing to do, Mr. Maellard," the raccoon creature snipped, letting out a grin. "The last time someone tried to expose me, I made sure to end the lives of him and everyone who knew. Nothing like an onset of an extremely deadly strain of influenza: debilitating, painful, and deadly." He looked around the room, as he continued to approach the old man. "But this... I hate technology sometimes. You mortals just have to keep advancing and making everything more difficult for us immortals. It's bad enough to try and keep a secret with out you knitting needle housewives spewing your gossip everywhere!"

His tendrils flew out, disabling the rest of the cameras, as well as any sound or recording equipment, before they could be used. The darkened weapons then found the sound and video booth above the studio, destroying the equipment as well as any phones nearby.

"How am I going to fix this?" Pestilence asked snidely. "Perhaps it's time for another pandemic to sweep across this planet. God knows the last one was fun after the great Mushroom War." He stopped finally, having approached his initial target. "But what should I do with you? You're too old to be struck with any sort of physical illness. I doubt you'll even live for another decade."

Maellard looked up with as much bravery as he could. His eyes stared behind the raccoon, and saw the outline of a woman – a gumball machine – lingering in the shadows from which he came out. She looked afraid and slightly worried.

The monster's grin widened as a thought occurred. "How about Alzheimer's? I think that's a fitting way to go don't you think? Yes, let's let the mind forget as the body dissolves slowly, leaving nothing but a body full of regrets." He chuckled again and twiddled his fingers, letting some ooze dance between the spaces.

Maellard licked at the inside of his teeth impatiently and stared at the creature with calm and patient eyes. "You poor thing," he whispered. "I have no regrets anymore."

In a quick motion of his arm, Maellard pushed the lid of the box up and reached inside. Pestilence flinched at the sudden energy the elderly man was exuding, causing him to stumble back. But that moment was what gave Maellard the upper hand as he lunged forward and stabbed his epee through Pestilence's eye, through the skull, and out of the other side of his head. He pushed it through till the handle slammed into the raccoon's nose, breaking it.

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"You want me to hurt Don?" Maellard said in shock as he looked sternly at the yeti. Even Benson held a gasp of disbelief on his face as he listened.

Skips nodded and sighed. "Yeah... I need to you try and act like you want to kill him."

"What is the point of that, Skips?" Benson asked, growing afraid at the proposed plan.

"The point is," Skips began, "is that he can't change out of bodies on the fly, at least not without a little momentum. Changing bodies is an extremely time consuming task for him, and the act itself leaves him tired and weary. We can force pull him out of Don's if his body is weakened enough. It's how I was able to help Barnaby."

Benson and Maellard shared a worried look toward one another and continued to listen.

"Pestilence wouldn't let his living bodies die. That would leave him vulnerable to anyone's attack on him. The only time he can leave in a hurry is if the host was already dead before he took them over."

Maellard shivered and felt a migraine spring up. "Oh God... so that means Timothy..."

Skips paused and sighed. "Yeah, he must have taken one of the recent bodies buried in the park cemetery and took it over. It's much easier than having a still living body."

"Why?" Benson had to ask.

"Less resistance," Skips explained. "A dead body's will isn't going to resist his strangle hold on it. But a body with a person still living in it..." He thought back on the time when Rigby's own body rejected him and likened it to that. "Pestilence is simply a consciousness without a body. He's not a god, or an angel, or whatever he claims to be. He's just some shmuck who screwed up at the beginning of time and lost his original body. I don't know what Death or the Gods of Youth saw in him to make him their Pestilence, but whatever the case, he's not really who he says he is."

"So if he doesn't have a body...?" Maellard said in an inquiring way.

"Then he's more 'managable'," Skips finished with air quotes. "He's still going to cause us trouble though."

"So if we attack Don's body," Benson began. "Then it'll weaken Pestilence enough for Don to take over!"

"And then we'll have the upper hand," Maellard announced.

The two men grinned at each other. But their confidence wore thin as they realized another hitch in their plan.

"But what about Don though?" Benson asked. "Will he know to fight back?"

"Yes, and what about his wounds?" Maellard asked as well. "Will he feel them? Will they even heal?"

Skips listened and looked away with a melancholy expression. "He's going to feel everything you throw at him. His body has two keepers now, and both him and Pestilence are going to feel every single thing. But I wouldn't worry too much about that. Pestilence wouldn't give up his body so easily. There's a reason he can keep some bodies for so long: He can heal the still living ones just as fast. Unfortunately, this means that any chance move we have to use against him, is a limited window. I have no doubt Don has been fighting to get his body back, and will do his best to help us."

"But what if it doesn't help?" Benson wondered out loud.

Skips thought about it and glared at the two men with fire in his eyes. He looked like a general, placing his pawns and pieces around the battlefield, ready to make the ultimate sacrifice if he had to. "I don't know about you two," he said, "but I think I'd rather die than let that thing have a hold of my body for the rest of my life."

Maellard and Benson couldn't argue against that. If it came down to it, then it would have to become exactly what it was: A mercy killing.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Pestilence reeled back in pain and let out a scream. He flailed about for a few seconds, losing control of the body for a moment as the blade protruded through the rodents brain.

"Forgive me, Don," Maellard said as he pulled the second epee out of the box. The box tumbled to the ground as he got up from his seat and readied his blade in the sixte position. Without even another moments hesitation he lunged forward, burying the blade through Don's heart, and retreating it. He pulled his arm back and made a quick swipe across the raccoon's throat, letting it open allowing the red and black spill out. He parried back a few leaps and waited for any change in the raccoon.

"How cute," Pestilence gurgled. It held it's throat, futility trying to keep his insides from spilling out. He was quaking like he was having a seizure, and his body was on fire. In one quick motion, he pulls out the blade from his eye, and snaps it into two pieces between his thumb and forefinger. "You really think you stand a chance, don't you?" The wounds begin to close and heal around him. "Alright then... I'll play with you for a minute or two. But afterwards, I have to clean up your mess. Including all these nice people you've roped in." He glares around the room with a grin and laughs again, slowly approaching the old man.

"Don't underestimate me," Maellard fanged.

"Same here," Pestilence laughed.

The creature sent out three of his black arms, expecting the old man's reflexes to fail him. He would impale him and probably play with the body a bit before disposing of the codger with his life. Pestilence wondered if he were to ever die – which he knew he never would – would he be reincarnated as a cat?

But his assumptions of Maellard were wrong, as the old man swiftly dodged two of the arms, and sliced the third off with the tip of his epee. The lolliman lunged forward and swiftly stabbed the raccoon four times in a matter of two seconds. He sliced into the raccoon's arm after that, and parried away again, leaving the monster to heal it's wounds.

"Alright," Pestilence grunted, "so you got some fancy footwork there, do ya?"

It rushed at Maellard in a heartbeat, ready to sink it's arms into the flesh of his enemy. But once again, he was shocked to find himself miss completely. Maellard ducked around his advances, side stepping out and then in again, turning around and impaling his weapon into the raccoon's spine. Pestilence dropped to the floor as he felt his his waist and legs go numb and unfeeling. Maellard removed his weapon and kicked the creature while it was down in a fit of unsportsmanship.

Pestilence looked up at him with a twitching eye and asked, "kicking someone when they're down, are we?"

Maellard simply smirked and flicked his weapon downward, splattering the crimson and noir onto the cold studio floor. "As if you played fair before," he beamed.

"Very true," the creature bragged. "But can you be everywhere at once?"

Maellard sensed a presence behind and spun around to find more of the terrible tentacles coming at him. There were too many to dodge or parry away from. He jumped out of the way of the first three, but the fourth and fifth slashed at his cheek and the side of his neck. His balance was lost and he found himself begin to plummet to the ground. He may have still been good on his feet with a sword, but not enough to keep his bearings straight around this monster. Perhaps if he were younger and more virile, he'd have stood a chance.

As he fell, his eye caught sight of the darkness sliding under him, jumping up and forming into two jagged long poles. He fell right onto them, one through the shoulder, and the other through his kneecap. The pain was excruciating to put it lightly. However, through it all, he held onto his blade, refusing to die without some proof that he gave it his all.

Pestilence smirked and healed his spine, regaining the feeling in his legs. It quickly picked itself up and looked for any damages. Save for blood and blackness on his suit, he was perfectly all right. Thankfully, he could clean that off in seconds, but first – Maellard was a problem. He took necessary movements to slowly approach the man and look down at him.

"I suppose you can't be everywhere at once then?" he chortled. "I'll admit, you can handle a blade well enough. If it weren't for the fact that I hate you and just about every other mortal on this planet, I'd almost consider you an appropriate candidate for Strife or Conquest. Those idiot Gods and Gary would certainly be happy about that." He knelt down and placed his hands on Maellard's cheeks, gently moving his head left and right to get a good look. "Now to be fair, I didn't completely hate you. You were more of a minor agitation. You actually could run a business, and your economical advise was actually pretty sound. Not mention that you are mighty speedy on your toes with a foil. Such a shame you had to ruin all that good talent by actually trying to go against me."

He released the man, and looked down with fascination. "If it makes you feel any better, I have no intention of using your son's body for my own personal gain. I was thinking about letting him go anyways, after I convinced you to sell your assets to my company... but alas, you had to go with the cardinal and his hateful little glare. Oh well." He stepped up and brought his hand high over the old man. "I'll give him a quick death so he doesn't have to suffer... like his old man is about to." Little droplets of ooze began to sweat out of the raccoon's palm and pointed down with a sharp intent.

Pestilence smiled with cruel apathy and readied to rain death down upon Maellard. But his smirk disappeared as he thought of something. The situation seemed too similar to others he had had in the recent past. And just like that, it caught up to him. He spun around and brought his palm up. Dark needles began to shoot out of his hand, attacking the person who had lined up with his sight.

"Didn't think I'd remember, did ya?" he spat with an ill expression. "Where did you come from anyways?"

Benson laid on the ground, clutching at his crank and chasis. He looked down at it and found little spears jabbed into his armor, remaining broken and hard, sticking out from the Connor Wong Show crew shirt he had stolen earlier. The hat he had been wearing with the station logo toppled from atop his head as he tried to move way. Perhaps making an attempt to ram into the monster once again wasn't such a good idea. Perhaps he should have just stayed behind the camera and continued to act like he had been doing something important.

"You sad little thing," Pestilence sighed. "I did my very best, but apparently you are leaving me with no choice." He brought his hand above himself, calling the rest of his darkness to him. They formed into their weapons, and aim directly for the man.

"NO, STOP!" Veronica screamed as she ran over to her love. She grabbed at his arm, and shook her head pleadingly. "You promised you wouldn't kill him!"

Pestilence looked at his wife, and then quickly looked away with guilt in his eyes. "I'm sorry, love. But he's gotten in my way too many times. I promise it'll be quick and painless."

"No, please!" she continued to beg. "He doesn't deserve it!"

"What do you expect me to do?" Pestilence replied. "I can't take this little whore's meddling nature anymore."

The weapons were launched at him a moment later, as Veronica covered her mouth and turned away as not to watch the horrible sight that was about to unfold.

But there was no scream, no thrashing of metal, no laugh from her husband. No, the only sound that was heard was the quiet gasp of Pestilence as he watched it all happen. Veronica turned back around hesitantly, and looked upon the scene with wide eyes.

Skips stood in front of his love (who in turn was smiling at Pestilence with a knowing look of the eye), several of the tendrils buried deep into his body, while the rest remained floating and stationary...

No More Than...

Half...

An...

Inch...

Away...

Skips smirked evilly and grabbed all the arms, bundling them up like twigs in a fagot. And just like those twigs, he forced them down, snapping them off their mighty oak, who screamed out in pain as each and every limb that was out was now temporarily out of his power. The yeti knew he only had a few second to react and quickly pulled out the pieces still lodged inside him. Then with one fine dash, he flipped them over and aimed them at their master.

Pestilence had learned by then that his reaction time wasn't anything to be proud of, and knew that his mind moved faster than his body. So it came as no shock to him as Skip lashed forward and stabbed all the pieces of himself into the animal's chest, puncturing the breast plate, breaking through the rib cage, and completely shredding the lungs and heart to pieces beneath him. They went straight through to the other side, forcing him down and pinning him to the floor.

He let out another scream in pain, causing the foundation to shake and some of the lights above to burst. He quaked and shook uncontrollably at the pain, not used to having whole parts of his body torn apart like that. What had happened to his arm in Timothy's body was bad enough, but this? He couldn't breath, his body went cold immediately and he felt black and red pouring out from everywhere. He at least took comfort that Don was feeling everything as well.

His eyes looked beside him and found Maellard up into a sitting position. The parts of him holding him down must have lost grip when Skips rammed into him. The old men looked at the sad creature with a stern though studious expression. But that changed when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of metal. He flipped up the lid and struck the ignitor with his thumb. That look for which he was always known for, changed into something far more familiar to those at the part: the innocent and carefree expression of childlike wonder and excitement. Maellard had his son's expression on his face as he threw the lighter at the bundle of blackness holding Pestilence down.

The last thing that came into view was Veronica looking away again. This time knowing what it was that was going to happen.

The pile of disease ignited into flames, as burning enveloped the raccoon's body. Pestilence screamed out in pain as the spikes dissolved and burned away instantly. The fire caught with the bloody mixture on the ground and attacked the rest of his flesh and fur. Any other darkness in the general area melted away and dissolved as it had trouble holding its form. Even the spikes on Benson had disappeared into nothing.

The entire studio watched as the raccoon was roasted alive, his fur charring away and his flesh bubbling and rearing away to reveal muscle underneath. The terrible site left some to run out of the studio in disgust, while others to watch in fascination. The fire alarm went off, and the sprinklers began to go off, slowly extinguishing whatever was left of the already quickly diminishing flame.

Pestilence was left with a shocked expression: his mouth gaping open, his eyes wide and bulging, sprawled out with arms and legs spread all over. Benson crawled over to the body and look at it, making sure not to get too close. He jumped away when the body started to heal: the heart and lungs rebuilding itself, while the flesh joined back together and the fur grew back. In a matter of moments, the body of the young raccoon was brand new again, almost as if nothing had ever happened to it.

It arched it's back upward as breath came back into it. "Benson," it hissed in the back of its throat. It's eyes looked pleadingly at the gumball machine, and it began to cry. Benson knew what he saw: it was Don.

"Skips!" Benson screamed.

The yeti was already down, pulling out a small pocket sized rain stick and beginning the cleansing ritual. He muttered the lyrics and chants as fast as he could, trying to hurry while they had this chance. He needed to get to the main part of Pestilence – otherwise, he'd never be able to save Don.

When it was over, Don arched up and turned over, grabbing at the floor. He began to cough uncontrollable until finally, the ooze began to floor out of him. The image didn't disturb the three men or Veronica as it did the rest of the studio. By the time he had gone through it about ten seconds in, the rest of the crew had already left, save for Connor and Kat who watched intently.

Finally, something caught in Don's throat. Skips took this as his cue, grabbing the raccoon by the scruff of his neck. He pulled him up, and opened his mouth. A giant eye ball with the outline of a red diamond in it's pupil stared at him with exhaustion, finding no strength to fight. Skips looked at it and smiled.

"Mr. Maellard," the yeti announced with accomplishment. He pointed the eye at Maellard's direction, who had his epee up and pointed at him.

"Don't blink," Maellard said with pride in his voice. He then let out a laugh like Pops, and stabbed the eye.

Maellard suddenly found himself grabbed by his shoulders and dragged away. Not even a moment after he found himself taken away, the eyeball burst through Don's mouth as well as the remainder of the darkness inside him: Pestilence's true body. The one he remembered so fondly from the park the first time they had met. Maellard looked behind him, and found who his two "kidnappers" were.

"What?" Connor asked with a inquisitive tone. "It just seemed like common sense."

Kat nodded and let out a surprised sigh. "At least when we deal with you it is."

Maellard shook his head in amusement and laughed. He had apparently been underestimating everyone that day.

Don coughed a few more times before falling back onto the floor, shivering from the aftershock of pain and destruction.

Benson grabbed him and brought him up. He wasn't sure if Don was going to be alright or not, but he was alive at the very least. The gumball machine knew Don was going to be alright though as the raccoon leaned into Benson with all his strength and placed his head onto his shoulders. He whispered a soft word of gratitude and contently breathed on his own once more.

Benson looked at Skips and nodded.

The beast was happy to see Don would make it through, though unhappy that he would probably end up spending the rest of his life at Tiny Chateau for the emotional damage. "Alright then," the yeti murmured as he knelt down next to Pestilence. "That takes care of one of my friends. Are you going to give up the other two?"

Pestilence twitched and looked at everyone all around the room. They were watching him with confidence and spirit. He hated those things. This was more than enough to qualify this as a bad day.

With whatever strength he had left he grabbed at Skips' shoulders and pulled himself close to the yeti until his eye was almost touching his face.

"Who said you could even have that one?"

His form quivered and vibrated, and then spiked up. These spikes launch as harpoons all around the studio, stabbing themselves into anything they could.

Maellard, Connor, and Kat saw the spikes before they launched and retreated out of the studio, just barely escaping, as several of the harpoons hit the door and just inside the archway. Maellard looked back in and found one the harpoons had stabbed itself into Skips chest. The yeti flinched and looked back at Benson and Don. They too had one impaled into they shoulder and arm.

The harpoons had missed Veronica completely, not even launching in her direction. One hand however, appeared out of the monster and was offered to her. She looked at it and then to Benson. Her thoughts were wild and rampant. She was unaware of what was to happen next. But she trusted her love enough, and took his hand.

In an instant, Veronica, Benson, and Don were pulled toward the creature. They were absorbed into his black flesh and disappeared within seconds. They couldn't fight it.

Fear swept over Skips face as he was left alone with his old friend.

"Now then," Pestilence said with glee, "let's take this inside, shall we?"

And then Skips too was absorbed.

Maellard, Connor, and Kat watched from outside the events that had unfolded. Pestilence looked at them with a slightly amused glare, before shutting the door, and barricading itself inside the studio.

This left the three adults staring into a closed door, with nowhere to go, nothing to report, and no action to take. Whether Maellard liked it or not, his part in this story was over.

**Mermaid – **_Anamanaguchi_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

I really wanted to write Maellard as a badass in one of these chapters, and you just read it. I don't know, I think I have a headcanon where Maellard is a fencing champion of some sort. He doesn't seem like the kind of man who doesn't know how to defend himself somehow. But really, I just wanted to write a fight scene with him included being all badass and awesome. I hope you all enjoyed it! And now, we only have a couple more chapters left. I'm excited, and I hope you all are too!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	27. 4 Ghosts I

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**4 Ghosts I**

The lights from above were gone, and with that, Benson was plunged into the darkness with nothing but himself and these things. Time had become a foreign element to him in his fear, as his mind scrambled to figure out what was happening. Benson could feel the gears inside him turn faster as the adrenaline was flushed into his system. His feet began to shake and wiggle, doing their best to break free and fall into a sprint. But the hands had completely wrapped themselves around him. Whether he liked it or not, he wasn't going anywhere.

But he had been in this place before. Everything was so familiar to him. It was the exact same thing as last time. He was reminded of the basement incident and realized where he was. He took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Whatever was covering him would remove itself in due time. Sure enough, they had already begun to pull away, setting the gumball machine on the icy cold ground with nothing but the darkness to accompany him.

He could feel eyes watching him, though there was none around that he could see. In fact, he couldn't see anything at all. The only thing that was there was the feeling of being spied on and a low shuffle and giggle moving toward him. He wanted nothing to do with it.

"Enough with the theatrics!" Benson screamed into the darkness. "We've been through this enough already. Let's just get this over with!"

And just like that, the sounds coming from around him disappeared, and that snooping feeling was gone as well. A spotlight appeared over him, giving him a little light to look around the area. What was there to even look at though? Everything around him was still nothing but darkness. What was the point of the light even?

He turned around and found himself face to face with a door. It seemed very ordinary with a wooden frame and oak coloring. The doorknob interested him though as he looked at it and found it a see through jewel with a single sharp point directing up. He ignored the strangeness of it and grabbed for the knob and turned it, opening the door and stepping inside...

* * *

><p><em>Beautiful Stranger...<em>

_Why do you have to walk with your head hung low?_

He found himself caught in the same blackness he had stepped out of. The man looked around for any signs of life and shook his head. "Of course," Benson sighed, "you're just gonna lead me around on a wild goose chase forever, aren't you?" He shrugged and turned back around.

The door was closed. A resounding click reverberated around the area, telling him it was now locked. Benson was stuck in the darkness now. The only light around was the spotlight that seemed to follow him with each step he took.

There was no point in hanging around the door anymore. He was going to have to search for a way out somewhere else. He didn't think much of it though. If this was indeed the inside of Pestilence, then there would be no way in hell he would escape. He decided to humor the entity instead, and search around the god forsaken place.

The spotlight followed him wherever he went, like a guard watching his prisoner. The gumball machine didn't even look up at the source of the light, deciding instead to walk forward.

Unfortunately, he had only been walking a whole three minutes when he found he had walked back to the door. Benson was sure he had been walking in a straight line. Pestilence was playing with him. The gumball machine reached for the knob and tried turning it again – still locked.

"What's the whole point of this?" he asked the darkness. "You just gonna keep me locked up in here for the rest of my life?" He tapped his foot at the ground, and smiled slyly. "Didn't Veronica tell you not to kill me? What would she think if she found out I was being held captive against my will."

No response.

"I'll bet it must steam you to know that Veronica doesn't want me dead!" he screamed out. "I guess she still has a thing for me, huh? I bet that just really turns your gears... oh no wait... that's what Veronica and I did when we were alone!" Benson let out a laugh, and tried to listen for anything. Nothing came about unfortunately.

When he found that his taunting had no effect on the monster, he kicked the door, and turned around again to walk. He didn't last long though as he ended up coming right back to the door. He tried it again, and for three times straight, stubbornly came back to the same door, with the same wooden frame, and the same oaken color, and the same single pointed jewel knob.

Benson stood there, and sighed angrily. He wondered what it was he was supposed to do, if anything at all. Then he thought of something. He took a step around the door, and found something fascinating: there was no door on the other side. Only a path leading into what appeared to be a bedroom of some sort. He stepped into it and looked around.

The floors, walls, and ceilings were all a dead gray. A pale white sheeted bed laid in the corner, waiting for its host to come and take a nap. Beyond that, there was nothing else. It was nothing more than a simple and empty bedroom with a bed in it – no windows, no desks, no closets, no nothing. Curiously, he looked under the bed and found nothing of importance or interest, and returned to the path leading into darkness.

But the path was gone now, leaving behind that same damn door he had slowly begun to resent.

"Well that figures," Benson murmured. "Now what?"

He looked around the room again and found nothing in the small isolated area. The bed looked awfully comfy, so he sat down on the edge of it and thought. At least, he tried to think. For some reason, he was having trouble coming up with anything helpful or coherent in the situation he was in.

His mind snapped back as something echoing and hollow began to repeat around the room. Benson looked up around the ceiling and to the walls. He recognized the low and repetitive tone as a phone ringer on the other end, as if someone where holding the receiver to their ear. Benson sat on the edge of the bed and listened to it ring for a good minute. Finally, it stopped.

A loud and blaring static suddenly filled the room, causing him to cover his head, as it spoke in low and high tones, pausing for a second and then continuing. It lasted less than a few seconds, and then it was gone. Benson uncovered the sides of his dome right as a small click chimed. There was a low static and the sound of something happening in the background. They were voices: some of them singing, some of them laughing, some even demanding something. Benson listened in closer, and heard someone say "two sugars". His mind automatically clicked to Don, but the voice was much deeper than the raccoon's. It then occurred to him exactly what the voice was asking for. Two sugars... in their coffee.

"Hello?" a stuttering female voice spoke through.

Benson stood up. He knew that voice anywhere. "Margaret!" he yelled out. "Where are you!"

"Hello? Are you there?" Margaret asked.

"Don't worry!" Benson said. "I'm gonna find you and we're gonna get out of here, just hang on!"

"Dad," she cooed, causing Benson to stop and listen. She wasn't talking to the gumball machine. This was an actual phone call.

"Dad, are you there?" she asked with a whispered tone. "Please pick up... it's Margaret, your daughter."

There was a rather long pause that was accompanied by a profound and anxious breath. "It's okay if you are, and you just don't want to pick up. I understand." Another long pause before the voice continued. "You probably don't like hearing me call myself that. It's who I am now, Dad. It makes me happy. It's not to punish you or make you feel bad. Do you understand?"

She waited for any sort of response, but nothing came from it.

"You can say it's a phase all you want, but it's not going to change anything, Dad. And it's not because of the divorce either, so you can stop using that excuse too. I just wanted to say those things before you try to pick up the phone and berate me like you always do." There was a deep breath over the line as she tried to think of something to say.

"I wanted to call and wish you Merry Christmas... I know it's probably hard for the whole family considering we're all separated from each other right now. Mom doesn't have a boyfriend, ya know, and she says she misses you when I talk to her. She doesn't miss you as much as I'd like, but she still cares enough for you. You should call her, ya know. I'll bet you guys could get some dinner or something and try to catch up. And that's not me trying to get you two back together or anything... I just want to make sure you two are happy is all. Maybe you two could come surprise me at the coffee shop. I have to work all day. I can't believe Michelle would keep this place open on Christmas Day. She's even got Eileen working too. I'd probably hang out with her after work but... she's going to go visit her family the next state over."

Margaret sniffled over the line and tried to collect herself. "Did I tell you about Mordecai yet? He's this blue jay that's got a real big crush on me. He really worships the ground I walk on, trying to impress me, and being friendly, and blushing and... I really like him too dad. Eileen's even got a crush on his best friend. I'd really like some advice, if you don't mind."

She waited and received yet no answer. "I really miss the both of you," she continued, her voice filled with distress. "Please say something... anything... I can hear you breathing on the other line."

Benson could hear it too, the distinct sound of two separate pulses of breath, gliding across the microphone of the devise. Her father was definitely listening in.

"Look... I know..." she paused and took in a breath to calm herself. "I know I'm not everything you thought I'd be... but I'm still your child. I may not... go by the name you gave me anymore," she huffed another breath, "but I'm still the same person you raised. I'm still that tacky little kid who played with dolls and action figures, and who went out to join the track team in high school. I'm still me... and I still love you. I just wish... I just wish I could hear you say the same thing to me."

And there was still nothing but the heavy breathing of another voice. Benson listened on in the room. He hoped the man would say something, but knew that his hope wasn't enough for it. He looked down on the ground and found the floor begin to reshape and form into a carpet. He looked around and found the room begin to color itself.

"It's alright, Dad," she said into the receiver. "You don't have to if you don't want to... just know that I still love you. Merry Christmas." And then she hung up the phone.

The dial tone began to sound, as the room continued to form with color and new items such as a drawer, and a closet, and a nightstand.

Benson clutched his dome again as the sharp static came forth again. But this time it was much less harsh and sounded almost understandable. And while Benson couldn't tell what it was saying, he could recognize the tone of sorrow and guilt in it. He prayed it came from the person whom the girl was talking to, but he knew he had no proof to say otherwise.

Quiet sobs began to flow from behind Benson. He turned around and saw a figure in the bed with it's face buried in the pillow.

It was a person – a red robin – who seemed to be in their early twenties, dressed in a fist pump t-shirt and a pair of tattered jeans. Benson already knew who it was. He looked down at the sad person and slowly brought his hand down.

As he touched his shoulder, the room disintegrated back into darkness with the spotlight above him, and the moment the crying person looked up at him, their clothes changed, and returned to the apparel Benson had seen Margaret in earlier. Her eyes went wide as she lunged forward and enveloped her wings around the man.

"Oh god, Benson," she sobbed. "He just... he won't... oh god..." She was almost hysterical, but doing her best to keep herself calm. "He keeps showing me all these horrible things from my past, and keeps saying all these stupid snide insults, and just keeps accusing me of all these things."

Benson quickly hugged the woman back, squeezing as tight as he could. She was warm and her feathers were soft. He wasn't going to let her go and let her suffer here.

"He's just playing with you," he said to the girl. "Don't take anything he says seriously. I think he's just trying to piss you off is all."

"Well it's working," she snapped. "He keeps saying how mortals are sad things, and how we're all full of sickness or something."

"Aren't you though?" asked a hideous voice around them.

Benson squeezed harder and looked around the darkness. "Where are you!" he screamed out.

Eyes slowly began to open in the background, and all over them. They stretched as far as could be seen, giving the gumball machine and the woman a true bit of fright.

"For the record," Pestilence echoed, "I wasn't trying to tell you you were sick for being who you are. You creatures have such a hard time accepting the way you were made. It seems to be even worse when it involves people you care for. Your father seems like such a idiotic man, refusing to even say anything to you because of one silly little thing that doesn't even matter. Such a sad man... perhaps he'll die of a stroke one of these days and then you won't have to worry about his berating of nature anymore."

"SHUT UP!" she shrieked into the darkness. "My father is good man... he's just..."

Pestilence laughed and continued. "He's just another person in your life who can't face facts... I've been digging through that bird's nest you call a memory, and I can safely say that it's not your fault Margaret – it's everyone else's!" He giggled and continued to mock her. "Poor ostracized little Margaret. The kids at school thought you were too weird, so they left you alone. The teenagers in high school thought you were a freak, so they made fun of you. And your own father can't even bring himself to call you by the name you see yourself as. Tsk, tsk, tsk, to them."

"I SAID SHUT UP!" she yelled, almost fighting against Benson's grasp on her.

"Or maybe," Pestilence sarcastically quipped, "maybe it was you."

Margaret stopped her resist and listened.

"Did you ever stand up for yourself?" he hissed. "Did you ever try to explain yourself to all these hooligans? Did you ever decide to be brave and be proud of yourself? If you have, than I haven't found it in your memory." The eyes all blinked in unison and began to take on different expressions in their movements. "You aren't even brave enough to tell your dates anything. You didn't even tell Mordecai. Benson apparently figured it out, so good for him... but you... I guess I should be tsking you instead, shouldn't I? Tsk... tsk... tsk... poor, sad, cowardly Margaret."

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Benson yelled at all the eyes around him. They shut and remained closed, plunging them back into the darkness with a single light. "She is strong," he continued. "She's one of the strongest people I know! She's always so happy and committed to her work. She gets angry and exhausted at everything, like we all do. But she never lets anything anybody says get to her. Margaret is always showing us how upbeat she can be! That's why she's always trying to help and is always compassionate! She's the bravest woman I have ever met in my life!"

Pestilence was stunned into silence, or at least this is what Benson was hoping for.

The gumball machine swallowed a lump in his throat and went on. "And if you can really look into her memories and see everything, than you'd know all of this. The only reason you're torturing her is because you only want to look at all the bad things that have happened. That was the past, and her past has made her stronger than you could ever be!"

The man and woman listened in and tried to figure out what would happen next.

"If you so insist," the voice of sickness moaned.

The door appeared before them again. The see through knob shook and vibrated, until a second point spiked out from the round outside of it, connecting with the first point to create a smooth straight line, connected to a circular other half.

Benson groaned and looked at the door. He knew that Pestilence was playing with all of them at this point, and was purposefully leading Benson around with this door. The machine wondered exactly what it was that the monster was planning.

Benson looked at Margaret and found her smiling at him. "Thank you," she cooed to him. "Thank you for saying all those things about me to him. He just had me believing..."

"Don't think about it," Benson interrupted. "Right now, we have to worry about the others. We need to keep moving."

"You're right," Margaret said, wiping her eyes of any stray tears that might have been forming from a combination of the sorrow from earlier, and the happiness now.

They looked over at the door and approached it together. Margaret was the one to reach out this time, and turn the knob. A cold wind erupted from the other side, and they stepped in together.

* * *

><p><em>The Mediterranean Flower<em>

Another unfamiliar and empty bedroom.

Benson muttered something under his breath and proceeded to look around the area. Margaret did the same, making sure to keep one arm around Benson's as she did. They couldn't afford to be separated. Anything could happen in that place, and they both knew it from first hand experience.

Overall though, the room was exactly like the previous: gray walls, floor, and ceiling, and another tiny and lifeless bed. The only thing they could do was wait for something to happen.

"Do you think there'll be another phone call?" Margaret asked, looking all around her.

"Maybe," Benson replied. "Knowing this place, I couldn't tell you. For all we know, Pestilence is still just playing around with us, making us run around in circles."

She nodded and held on tighter to him. "What if," she gulped, "what if neither one of us is who the other thinks, and he's just trying to confuse us and force our hand?"

"Oh please," Pestilence announced into the room. "That takes way too much work and the planning is a nightmare. It's a lot easier to just to go all stealthy and play everything by ear. I can be pretty lazy in those regards too though. Still, what you said is more common than you think. Speaking of laziness..."

A single piece of paper suddenly appeared out of thin air and floated to floor. The two looked down at it, and slowly made their way towards it. Margaret leaned down to pick it up, and slowly observed it. It was blank. They exchanged a glance and pondered what it meant.

Just then, more paper began to float down, each one just as blank as the original. Benson and Margaret both looked up and found the ceiling had disappeared, and an avalanche of paper was heading their way. The girl bit down on her beak and released her hold on Benson, pushing him out of the way as a large pile of papers fell to the ground.

"Thanks," Benson said quickly. He looked up and found more coming towards the two of them. They retreated to a corner of the room, meeting back up and watching the mass of blank paper fall and stack.

A large object fell onto the floor, flattening the paper that had already begun creating a mountain. They were a simple 1000 or so page hardbound book. There was no writing on the cover, but the spine read "ACCOUNTING" across it.

"Don!" Benson yelled. He looked up again and found a strange sight indeed.

A ceiling had reappeared, though much higher than before. At the very top of it was a wooden desk, floating carelessly amongst the papers, and there, sitting at the very tip of one of the mountains, was Don – pen in hand, scribbling down as many numbers as he possibly could.

The raccoon would scribble something on the papers before throwing them off the desk in a haphazard way. He wrote the results in a book and tossed it down as well. The things written on them disappeared before hitting the ground, causing him to redo them all over again. He moaned loudly and continued to work through the same piece of accounting as before.

"What's he doing?" Margaret asked.

Benson looked up at the raccoon and searched for a way to climb up. "It looks like Pestilence is trying to work him to death." He made his way over to the mountain of papers that Don was sitting on and began to claw his way up. Margaret chased after him, but Benson brought his hand up right before she got there. "I can take care of this! You just worry about protecting yourself."

She didn't argue. She knew Benson could take care of things and didn't need her slowing him down. She could help in another way sometime else. With that, the red robin ducked to the floor and hid herself under the bed.

Benson waited until she was safe. She gave a thumbs up with her wing, and let it be. Benson took that as his single to climb, and climb he did. The mountain was perilous, getting taller and more steep the more he climbed. He was happy he had no flesh on his hands, less there would be paper cuts to be found.

"Don!" the gumball machine screamed out. "Don, can you hear me!"

To no avail, the raccoon could barely hear himself over the scribbling of his pen. The books and papers were piling on the desk as well, weighing it down, and forcing the raccoon to lean ever so slightly forward.

Benson didn't like the looks of that. If he leaned too far forward, he'd probably lose his balance and tumble to the ground. But Don was so enamored with his work that he wasn't paying attention to anything else. He was only worried about the accounting that needed finishing. Only then would he be able to go home and see his loved ones...

"Don!" Benson screamed again.

The raccoon stopped his frantic writing and looked around himself. He could have sworn he heard something, but nobody seemed to be around. He shrugged it off as his own imagination and continued to work.

"Don!" Benson called out again. "I'm right here! Look down!"

The raccoon stopped once again, putting his pen down and peering down at the cause of his interruption. He looked squarely at Benson and let a gigantic smile come over him.

"Benson!" he exclaimed, jumping in his seat. "You decided to come back after all!"

"Of course I was going to come back!" Benson yelled. But something didn't seem right. The machine's expression changed as he began to ponder the words that were just said. Come back? When was Benson even there to begin with?

As Benson continued to climb while thinking, he noticed the pieces of paper floating down to the ground. Just for the faintest of glimpses he saw the words, "don't trust me," scribbled insanely, before the ink disappeared. Another piece of paper held, "it's not me," before it too disappeared. Benson saw all the pleas on paper and returned his glance to Don.

The raccoon had it: the feral eyes, the possessive nature, and the unwell twitch in his body. This was the Don that Benson dreaded so many times before. He looked down and saw the drop would probably kill him if he let go.

"How about some honey, sugar?" Don said, assuming a pouncing position in his chair.

Benson looked around for something to defend himself with. If Don lunged at him now, it was curtains for the both of them. He frantically tried to find something, but could only see the pleadings on paper. But when he saw a paper read, "jump," he had to take the chance.

With a deep breath, Benson let go of the mountain and let gravity do the rest. Margaret screamed from beneath the bed, and Don gasped, lunging from his chair to try and catch Benson.

The machine felt the rush of wind at his back as he fell, looking up at the ceiling as Don caught him and embraced him into some tight sugar.

"Lots of sugar for my honey!" the raccoon yelled as they plummeted ever closer to the ground.

"He's not your honey, sugar!" another voice, strangely sounding like Don, said.

Suddenly, a barrage of paper attacked the raccoon, straightening out their edges and cutting through the fur to the flesh. Don began to bleed black, doing his best to tighten his grip on the gumball machine. The pain became too overwhelming though, and he eventually had to let go. As his body was pushed away in the current, his appendages began to fall off and form into black ooze. The eyes opened up and Pestilence began to laugh.

"Oh well," he muttered. "Can't blame a guy for trying." They disappeared into the walls.

Benson watched as "Don" was destroyed, only to be replaced by his enemy who ran away just as quickly. The wind beneath Benson slowed and he found himself placed gently on the ground.

Margaret emerged from the bed as he landed, grabbing a hold of him. The rain of paper ceased, and everything suspended in the air fell to the ground, including the desk which splintered into pieces. They then watched a single piece of paper float up. It had a crude child's drawing of a raccoon on it.

"Hey guys!" it said in Don's voice. "Sorry about the trouble up there. Timmy has been working me overtime it seems like."

Benson and Margaret smiled and sighed in relief.

"Where are you?" the girl asked the drawing.

"I'm in here!" Don said. The peace of paper began to expand an addition couple of feet, and then flung open, like a door. It led into darkness, like they all did.

Benson and Margaret looked at each other and then climbed into it, hand in hand. Unfortunately, there was no floor to begin with on the other side, so when Margaret jumped in, she ended up pulling Benson through forcible as well. They fell into the darkness, wondering what was in store for them next.

Neither of them said anything, saved for a yelp that escaped Margaret's beak as she fell the first time. At this point, they were too used to this black and noir business and simply waited for the next event to hurry up and happen. They wouldn't have to wait long.

They both looked down and found themselves coming closer to a giant piece of paper with more drawings on it. It was a single panel, done like a comic book fashion, with two raccoons in a white space – one taller than the other. Margaret and Benson held on as they crashed through the paper and into the front yard of someone's house.

Benson recognized it as Don's house immediately, but braced for the incoming impact. He turned himself down, and held Margaret close so that he could get the brunt of the damage. His body hit the ground hard, and he felt his insides rattle and break. Margaret was hit with the recoil which sent a pain into his insides that quaked her bones and knocked the air out of her system. In truth, that long of a distance should have killed them, but things didn't work the same way in a place like that.

Margaret shakily crawled off of Benson and tried to catch her breath. Nothing felt broken, and she could still move all her limbs. She checked her beak to see if anything been chipped in the fall, and found everything to be alright. She looked back at Benson to find him on his hands and knees coughing up nuts and bolts, as well as the occasional gumball.

"Benson!" she screamed.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "I'll be fine. I'll be fine." He was having trouble convincing himself of that though as he slowly stood up, wiping some of the gear lubricant that accompanied his bits from his mouth.

Margaret didn't believe him, but let him be stubborn. If he got any worse though, she was strong enough to carry him.

The two wasted no time in approaching the front door and knocking on it. Hopefully, the Don they both knew would answer it.

"You can't get in," Don said from behind them. "He locked it."

They turned around and found Don sitting on the hill looking out on the city. Accept, there was no city this time. There was only the empty blackness they all knew of.

"He won't let me inside," he told them. "I don't know why Timmy is so mean all of a sudden. I didn't think he was a bad person... I really thought he cared about everyone."

Benson sighed and sat down next to him. Margaret followed suit.

"He did that to all of us," Benson said. "Pestilence really did a number on everyone."

"Pestilence?" Don asked. "Is that Timmy's real name? It's really cool. Sounds like something Rigbone would come up with."

Neither Benson or Margaret believed that, but they let the young raccoon think that.

"I'm glad we found you Don," Benson said. "C'mon, we need to get going. All we need to find is Pops, and get out of here."

"I'm not going," the raccoon sighed.

Margaret's eyes went wide. "Are you joking?" she yelped. "This place is hell on Earth. Why would you honestly want to stay in a place like this?"

Don looked away from them, towards another splotch of darkness in the distance. "I just want to stay here, okay? I think it's better for everyone that way."

"Don, what are you talking about?" Benson asked.

The raccoon brought his legs close to his chest and sighed some breath out through his nose. "I don't want to hurt anybody else out there. All I've been able to think about since I've been in here is how much I hurt you, Benson. And then I remembered the park too, and all the trouble I put everyone through. And then..." He began to sob uncontrollably. "And then he started using my body, and hurt Margaret, and tried to hurt my brother and his friends, and even attacked you. And it hurt so much too. I couldn't stand any of the things he was doing to me."

"It's alright, Don," Benson tried to speak in reason. "You don't have to worry about that anymore. We're here to get you out and take you home."

"But I don't want to go home!" the raccoon screamed at him. "What is there for me when I get back? Nobody will take me seriously after all the stuff I did. My career is over, and no one will ever want to talk to me. They'll all think I'm crazy! They'll probably lock me up in Tiny Chateau the moment I get my feet on the ground. I can't go back Benson... not after everything."

The raccoon whimpered and held himself closer. "I'm sorry... but I just don't want to go back anymore. Tell Rigby I love him, and that I'm sorry I wasn't a better brother." Don gulped the sad lump in his throat and looked back over at Benson. He wanted to at least see him one more time. "And I'm sorry that I was so crazy about you... I was just... lonely. I wanted someone to love me for a change instead of me constantly giving out all the love. I was being selfish." A tired and lonely chill crept through his furry body as his mind scattered about with memories of the past few weeks.

Don barely got another word in when Benson's fist drove right across his face. The raccoon fell back onto himself and looked up at the now purple with rage Benson. Margaret was looking away, but whatever expression on her face he could see suggested justification on Benson's part.

"I am in NO MOOD for this sad little melodrama!" the gumball machine bellowed. "I already had to deal with that for Margaret a little bit ago, and I don't need to deal with it again! Now get your butt up and come with us OR YOU'RE FIRED!"

Don didn't know what to say. His cheek stung from the hard metal punch, and the man whom he cared for had given it to him. He wanted to ask what the big idea was, but it somehow came out as "fired?"

"You're still employed at the park," Benson reminded him, "and I'm pretty sure I have superiority over you. So you're going to get up from that fake grass and come with us, OR YOU'RE FIRED! DO YOU HEAR ME!"

Don rubbed his cheek and stood up. "Yes sir," he said with a quick cough. "I'm sorry, Benson. I didn't mean to... umm..." He looked away from Benson again, going silent. But he turned more surprised when he found his boss had begun laughing.

"Don't worry about it, Don," the machine chuckled. "I just needed to get your mind straightened out. We got more things to worry about than feeling sorry for ourselves." He continued to smile at Don, and took a step forward. "Don't worry about all those things when we get out of here. I'll take care of them, okay?" And then, Benson gave Don some sugar.

"Just stay sweet, okay?" Benson requested.

Don looked down at the embracing gumball machine and let out a pained grin come upon him. "Do you think," he began, "that when we get home, I can find someone who will care about me the same I want you care about me?"

"Absolutely!" Benson answered, holding onto the raccoon for dear life. "We'll find ya someone just as sweet and sugary as you!"

"Ugh," Margaret gagged. "This is really starting to sound kind of sick. Is now really the time or place for all of this hugging and loving?"

"You got some earlier," Benson snapped playfully. "It's Don's turn now."

"No, no. She's right," Don said, breaking the hug. "We need to get out of here and find Pops, don't we?"

Something creaked behind all of them, and they all looked toward the direction of the house. The front door had been replaced with that same oaken thing with the clear jeweled knob. Now, it carried three prongs into it, with two flat sides formed into it. The three cautiously approached it.

"Where do you think it'll lead us this time?" Margaret asked Benson.

"Only one way to find out."

And so he opened the door.

* * *

><p><em>Smile...<em>

Once again the group was brought into the same blank and vacant room. Both Margaret and Benson automatically went on guard while Don straggled along behind, unsure what was going to jump out and scare them. They were aware of who this room was probably designed for and made sure to remain ready for whatever could be coming their way.

"Pops is the last one," Benson told the group.

"Unless he swallowed someone else up," Margaret groaned.

"Poor guy," Don replied to the two of them.

They began to look around the room for any changes: under the bed, inside the sheets, by the corner, around the door they had come in at. Nothing seemed "out of place" to them.

"It took a minute or two before it happened last time," Margaret said. "Maybe if we just wait this time around, something is bound to happen."

Don and Benson agreed and sat down to take a rest and wait for the strangeness to come about. However, as ten minutes passed, nothing happened. The group looked around in confusion, trying to piece this mystery together, but the room remained as it is.

"Maybe this is someone else's room," Don suggested. "Maybe Pops is in a different room than this one."

Benson tapped his foot on the floor and crossed his arms angrily. "Then why would Pestilence decide to send us in here in the first place? Pops has to be around here somewhere." He began to search the room again, futilely trying to find his employer or some sign of him.

Margaret fell back onto the mattress of the bed. "Maybe he's playing with us again. This guy does seem to play with his prey before he does them in."

Don stood up from the floor and looked back at the door they had come in at. "Maybe we should head back through the door into that other place and see if we missed anything." He grabbed the knob and casually opened the door.

The raccoon jumped back at first when he found that the blurry lawn they had come in from was now replaced with a small room, with a large pair of doors on the far end of it. Margaret and Benson came to his side when they saw the surprised look.

"Oh hello," asked a kindly woman behind a desk next to the doors. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Maellard?" The group watched the woman twitch and move in a stiff robotic fashion.

Benson cleared his throat and walked into the room. It was small even for him, as the very top of his head touched ceiling. Margaret and Don followed him in, having to kneel as they walked.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Maellard," Benson said, playing along with this little fantasy.

"And what is your n-n-n-name?" the woman asked with a stutter.

"Benson."

The woman began to look through a long list of names with appointed times next to them. Some of them were crossed out with a simple black strike through them, while there were others with terrible red scribblings across them, making the names barely legible. Benson only got a quick glimpse of the list, and made out some of the names of the black strike – people he didn't know. But he was just able to make out two of the red striked names as they read "Timothy Reynolds" and "Tardem Hassleback".

"Oh, here you are!" the woman said pointing to his name. It was circled with black ink. Little black question marks and exclamation points randomly surrounded it with the words "you promised" in small text written underneath it. "You're late," the woman announced. She snapped her fingers and the doors opened. She pointed inside right after that.

A light foggy haze took over their vision, and when it lifted, they found themselves inside Maellard's office already sitting. The chairs were uncomfortable and felt like sand paper, but they found they could not adjust themselves. They were literally frozen in place, save for their eyes and mouth.

Sitting across from them was Pops, or at least it seemed to be Pops. This man didn't seem like the kindly and energetic man they had come to love through their times together. Instead, this man was much older, pushing his mid hundreds, and looked as though all the love and joy had been drained from year of business. Unlike his father though, these eyes seemed exhausted and ready for the release of death.

"Pops, is that you?" Benson stiffly asked.

The lolliman looked at the man and weakly smiled. He trembled as he tried to say something, but only dust came out.

"What happened?" the gumball machine continued.

Before the old man could say anything, he was quickly interrupted by a large man sized toy in a business suit, coming in on a path etched into the floor. He approached the man and dropped a folder on the desk. "wE nEEd yOUr dECISIOn oN tHESe iN tWo mINUTEs."

The old man's smile disappeared as he took the folder and reviewed the papers inside. He sighed as he placed the folder down in plain view of the group. It had only a sheet paper with one question on it: "Would you make your father proud?" He quickly checked the box marking yes and gave it back to the android who thanked him and zoomed away.

No more than two seconds later another came in and dropped a folder with a piece of paper asking the same question on it. Pops answered the same as last time, and the toy ran away. One after another, the machine's came in droves, dropping the same pathetic question down in front of the man. Benson and the group were forced to watch the tired old man work himself silly in order to answer the inane question.

"He's a stubborn one," Pestilence sighed into the room. "I keep asking him the same question and he just keeps giving me the same answer. It's always wrong, wrong, wrong. Honestly, you'd think he would have figured it out by now. He has so much hesitation for his father's job, and yet he still wants to make him proud by doing it. It's mind numbing, it really is."

Benson grinned as he listened to his enemy.

"Must really stink," the machine said to him, "that you can't break his spirit like you have the rest of us. How much does that piss you off?"

"Well," the creature hummed, "it agitates me, but it doesn't out and out piss me off. I've possessed a lot of bodies with strong wills like him. I find them absolutely fascinating! If more mortals could actually stick to their guns like this guy, I think I'd probably have a better attitude toward them."

Margaret tried to move her body, but found it to be numb still. "Is it really forth it to keep him here then?"

"Yeah!" Don yelled out. "If he's not going to do what you tell him to do, why do you even need to torture him like this?"

The dialogue went soft save for the metallic droning of the company "employees" handing folders to Pops. Pestilence let out another discontented sigh and did his best to answer.

"Curiosity, I suppose. But you are right: he really is no fun right now. He's not even remotely interesting anymore. I was expecting a more visceral reaction like what I got from Tim and you, Don. They lost their shit. It was the funniest damn thing I had seen in a long time."

Don frowned and tried to move. There was an anger in his heart that was steadily rising.

"And then there was Margaret," he continued. "She was actually pretty calm about the whole thing. She kept telling me how she knew Benson or Mordecai were going to come for her. I eventually broke her, but damn, did that girl put up a fight."

Margaret felt that same bit of rage build inside of her, though unlike Don, hers had the intent to kill.

Benson could sense the malice coming from both sides of him as he rolled his eyes and continued to grin up at the ceiling. "Let him go," he said to the heavens. "Pops really doesn't have anything to do with this. You just need him around to keep Maellard at bay."

"I won't argue with that," Pestilence answered. "Maellard's already blown my cover, and with him selling off his assets, the son is useless to me. Not to mention this guy is just too old for me to use as a host. Oh well."

The room puffed away in a bit of smoke, and the group fell onto the blackness with the spotlight over them again. Pops' form returned to the one they had all known him for, and they ran over to him to make sure he was alright.

"Pops, are you alright?" Don asked as he brought the man up.

The lolliman coughed and rubbed his head. "Yes, I do believe I'm alright," he said with some remaining dust jumping out. "My fingers are in quite a lot of pain though, and I do believe my legs have gone stiff."

He hadn't walked in a bit, so it wasn't surprising to them that his body was a little out of use. Don placed his arm around his shoulder and brought the man to his feet, "It's alright, Pops," the raccoon beamed. "I'll do enough walking for the two of us."

Pops thanked him and did his best to collect himself. "I think I'm ready to take on my father's responsibilities, Benson," he said to the gumball machine.

Benson smiled and patted him on the back. "I think you were probably ready to begin with, Pops."

The old man smiled and let out a brief and innocent giggle as he always did.

"That's great and all," Margaret interrupted, "but now we gotta find a way out of here. If everyone is present and accounted for, we should really be focusing on finding the exit."

No sooner did she say that, then the door from earlier dropped from the sky right behind her. They all knew it was coming. The door knob now had four points in it, creating three flat sides, and a small rounded out area on it.

"I think we know the drill at this point," the girl said to the group. So she reached for the door knob and turned it.

* * *

><p><em>Then I heard your voice as clear as day...<br>And you told me I should concentrate...  
>It was all so strange,<br>And so surreal...  
>That a ghost should be so practical. <em>

This place seemed completely unfamiliar to the group as they walked in. They had stepped into the front lawn of another house in the middle of nowhere it seemed like. They were surrounded by trees with very little foliage on them, with their remnants scattered across the ground. Another house seemed a little father away, but was within in a two minute walking distance of the house they stood in front of. The neighborhood seemed secluded, but peaceful overall. There was a sense of hospitality in the air, and everything seemed welcoming.

However, the same could not be said for the house itself. It was surrounded with police cars, and ambulances as various officers and paramedics looked around the scene, trying to keep nosy neighbors from getting a peak inside the open door and window house.

"What is this?" Don asked.

"I'm not sure," Benson said as he took a few steps forward.

As he did, a doctor moved across him with a stretcher. A body was covered up what was originally a white sheet, now splotched a deep crimson. The wheel hit a rock, and an arm fell out of the sheet and dangled over the metal railing. It was somewhat muscular with a fleshy hand and bright white fur stained red from the wrist up. There were cuts all over the arm from what Benson could see. The fur was a dead give away as to who was meant to experience this though. Through the small openings in the sheet, he could barely make out the destroyed and utterly ravaged body, still clothed in garbs that seemed to suggest a sort of laid back life. He couldn't tell what, but the other arm was wrapped around something on her chest, wrapped in a white blanket as well.

Benson followed the stretcher as it was loaded into the ambulance. He jumped up into it as the doctors and EMS workers jumped down to check the scene for anybody else who needed help. One of them stayed behind, sliding back the blanket and taking a quick look at the two corpses beneath the rag. It was all Benson needed to see before he stumbled back, clutching his mouth from the incoming bile he only barely was able to keep down. The bodies... he couldn't even begin to comprehend the evil that did that to them.

The face had been ripped to shreds, exposing bone and light muscle tissue to the horrid air, as the girl's chest had been split open with her entrails scooped out. Benson felt another bit of sickness seep over him as he wondered where they could have gone. Her arms and legs were covered in slashes and gashes, and even patches of flesh with fur still attached dangled limply, waiting to be cut off. And then there was the small bundle, all wrapped up, nestled in the chest cavity. It couldn't have been more than a year old. It didn't even look recognizable as a living thing when the villain had finished with it.

Benson looked up at the house and sprinted forward, moving past the policemen and neighbors who obviously could not see him. He was simply a ghost, moving through a movie based in reality. The other three tried to catch up to him, waiting for him to stop, but he was moving too fast for them.

As Benson made his way toward the house, he noticed a police cruiser, and saw her in the back seat of it. She was much younger there, just like in the picture that Skips had shown Maellard. He recognized her as Amy, the girl Ploddevize claimed was Skips daughter-in-law.

Her eyes were focused into something in the distance, and her body and face were covered in crimson and blood. As he passed her, her necked snapped into the direction of Benson, and she smiled manically.

Benson jumped up onto the porch and ran into the house. He backed out of the house no more than a couple of seconds later, his hand closed around his mouth. His face held an expression of fear and disgust that he had never felt in his entire life. The machine did his best to keep the bile down, but failed, spreading his insides onto the porch. The group made it him as he began to clutch his empty stomach in pain.

"What is it?" Margaret asked as she knelt down to tend to him. "Was it inside?"

"Don't go in there!" Benson screamed. "Just don't go in there." He did his best to spit out the disgusting taste in his mouth, and pick himself back up. As he did, he looked over to the far end of the porch and saw a familiar person, mimicking his actions.

Skips stood, leaning against the side of the house, with one hand supporting him on the wooden railing, and another one over his mouth, dripping with his own wretch. He wiped whatever was left from his mouth, and did his best to try and blink away the steady stream of tears coming down his cheeks. He gulped whatever was left down his throat, and took a solid breath. When he exhaled, he charged off the porch and slammed his fist into the glass of the police car with Amy in it, cracking it.

The group watched as several policemen and paramedics tried to stop him, but were thrown aside like bugs fighting the blade of a lawnmower. They flew distances, hitting others and their vehicles. With the distractions out of the way, he grabbed for door handle and tugged as hard as he could. The handle broke off with a large piece of metal still attached. The door limply jiggled, finding that it's lock mechanism had been torn off. Skips grabbed the edge of the door, and ripped it off, discarding the chunk of machinery to the side. His hands reached for Amy by the neck and forced her to the ground.

"LET HER GO!" he screamed at her. "LET HER GO!" He tightened his strangle hold on her, knowing if it didn't leave her body, he was going to kill her. Either ending to the situation suited him fine. He didn't want her to suffer, but he didn't want her possessed either.

"So sad," she whispered in a rasp. "You... couldn't even... protect them..." The yeti loosed his grip to give the monster a chance to talk. "You said things were going to be different this time around. How did that work out for you?"

Amy laughed evilly, bits of black drool trickling down her cheek. "Would you like to hear how I did it do them? How I cut a little slit into your daughter's face and just tore the flesh from that opening with my bare hands while she screamed for me to stop? Or maybe or how I split your grandchild open like a holiday goose!" She was answered with a punch to the cheek. Amy was knocked out cold, and left on the ground. A puddle of blackness escaped her mouth, laughing and winking at Skips before in slithered away.

The scene went dark immediately afterwards.

Skips remained there in his place, the tears returning to his face as he relived that horrible night. He looked up and found the group watching him. Benson forced himself up and walked over to him.

"Skips, listen," he began, reaching out his hand.

"SHUT UP!" he snapped at the machine. "I don't want your sympathy, and I don't want your apologies! I don't want to talk about this."

"But Skips," Benson pleaded.

"But nothing!" Skips screamed back. "You don't know how many times I play out scene's like that in my head! You don't know how many times I had to suffer because that bastard did shit like that to me every time I found something to live for in my life! I don't want to be reminded of it, okay!"

Benson retracted his hand and placed in on his arm. Now he felt both sick emotionally and spiritually. He let the yeti sit there and sob in silence for a moment. But when the tears refused to relent, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms as best he could around his friend. Skips shivered at the hug at first, but eventually adapted to it.

"You don't have to talk about it, okay?" the machine said to him. "But if you do ever want to, you can talk to me. Just don't be angry. I don't like seeing you this upset." He turned and looked back at the people he was with. "Or any of my friends for that matter."

Skips sighed and nuzzled a bit into the one sided hug. "Even after all these years, it still hurts. No matter how many years pass, I can't get over the people who have died in my life."

"That's okay," Benson assured. "I still think about what happened to Dave everyday, so I can understand on some level where you're coming from. But at least we're thinking about them, and how much they cared about us, right?"

It all seemed a bit rushed, but while Benson wanted to make sure Skips was alright, he knew that they still needed to get out of there. All of them had suffered while being inside of Pestilence and needed to escape from there in order to keep their minds in check.

"We have to go, Skips," Benson said as he broke the hug. "I know you're feeling really bad right now, but we have to get out of here."

"I know," Skips replied as he stood up. "I know we have other things to worry about right now. I just can't stand it when he rubs this stuff in my face."

"I hear that," Margaret said. "I think all of us have had to suffer quite a bit with him."

"Definitely," Don agreed. The raccoon looked at his cargo he was still supporting, and found the old man having trouble keeping awake. He smiled at him and let him relax.

Benson nodded and got up as well. "How did you get in here, anyways?"

"He dragged me in during the fight," Skips said as he wiped his eyes. "Maellard got away though, so don't worry about him."

"Good to know. So what now? Is it time for that door again?"

It came right down as soon as he had finished saying that, landing in front of the group. The jewel door knob now had five points to it, creating four flat areas. The roundness that had been there before was now gone, as the clear jeweled doorknob now was in the shape of a diamond, standing between them and the end.

"Fine," Benson quipped. "Let's get this over with."

He walked forward and opened the door.

**4 Ghosts I** – _Nine Inch Nails_

**Beautiful Girl** – _POE_

**The Mediterranean Flower (Chill Mix) –** _Sunlounger_

**Smile** – _Yoko Kanno_

**Only If For A Night** – _Florence + the Machine_

* * *

><p><strong>Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui<strong>

_...mohw ot dna, nehw, yas uoy tahw eraweB..._

_Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	28. Lullaby

**Chapter Twenty-Eight  
><strong>**Lullaby**

He sat upon his simple wooden chair throne, slowly clapping his hands together as his lover stood behind him with an expression of fear and panic upon her face. The demon of sickness leaned forward and rested his hands on his thighs, letting out a gurgled laugh. His form was of that for which they had known him for as a human: Timothy Reynolds.

His throne room was nothing. There were slightly lighter shades of black around the room, giving off a dusty color to the area. The walls and ceiling pulsated like a heart, sending chills down the guests of the room. The floor however, did not follow suit with the rest of the room. Though it was still that of a dusty black, stones tiles and gravel had been laid down in the formation of a diamond in the center of the room, each end pointing to a corner in the room.

"I hope you don't mind," he said to his guests, "but I thought it might be easier for you guys if I assumed this form while you were here." He shivered and changed shapes to look like Don, which caused the raccoon to repulse. "But then again, I can be whatever I want to be. This is my body and soul you're inside." His visage turned back to Tim and he stood up.

Five people stood in front of the open door with the Diamond shaped jewel knob, looking serious though terrified of the creature before them. The door shut itself behind them and burst into ash. None of them noticed or even cared.

"Let us go!" Margaret screamed angrily. "You had your fun, so just let us go!"

The group nodded along with her suggestion, except for Skips who know exactly how this sad little game was going to end.

Pestilence laughed at her and shook his head mockingly. "You poor, poor, sick little bird," he sighed. "Why in the name of Quintel would I let you and your fun loving party leave? I have all of you in a position where I can easily exploit and torture your very beings. The only reason I haven't gone magnifying glass to army men on your group yet is..." He trails off and looks back at his wife.

Veronica takes in a deep breath and glares at her lover.

The creature could see the disapproval in her eyes and understands it. "But just because the love of my life here doesn't want me to kill any of you... Benson is particular," he spat with venom, "doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with your mortal souls. Well, almost all your souls." His eyes stare down Skips.

The yeti skipped forward ahead of the group until he was only a step away from the monster that had caused him nothing but trouble for most of his eternity. "Leave them out of this," Skips snarled. "We all know that the only reason you're doing this is to go after me, so just let them go home. If you want me, I'm right here."

Pestilence puckered his lips, unimpressed. He examined the yeti's body head to toe. "You know," it coughed, "I remember when you were just a tree twig that I could snap between my finger and thumb. Now I think your chest is bigger than most porn stars. I gotta hand that one aspect about yourself to ya, Walks: you became a hell of a well built man." He grinned at him, and focused his eyes with intent. "Never the less..."

Pikes sprung out from the floor at an angle, stabbing through the yeti's flesh and suspending him across the room until he was in a corner. They then pointed upward, and sent him skyward about twenty feet before leaving him there. He coughed and looked around him – he had the perfect view of the whole room. Pestilence continued to grin with hate, and watch the yeti be impaled upward.

"Never the less," he continued, "I'm not finished playing with you. The bet is still on. And if you haven't figured it out yet, I live to watch people like you suffer emotionally." The monster's attention shifted to the group as he began to step past his handiwork. "Maybe this time, he'll actually off himself and this misery will be done and over with."

"Don't touch them!" Skips yelled as loud as he could. "If you do..."

"If I do, what?" Pestilence asked as he continued to move. "You'll save the day again? For how long I wonder. How long do you think you can simply avoid me, Walks? How long can you delay the inevitable? How long do you think you can protect anyone for that matter?"

The four remaining in the group knew the fear they held in their hearts was justified as he continued to step toward them. This thing was a monstrosity of the world; a creation both evil and good, full of emotion and none at all. It was unwanted in the world, but a necessity. They knew they could not escape it. But they also knew that the other feeling from within them was just as genuine as the fear inside them. This other zeal granted them the strength to face his pestilence and sickness, and gave them all they needed to continue on, even if it meant their death.

Bravery...

"What a mortal concept," Pestilence laughed. "Bravery. Courage. Hope. What strange things you mortals create in your free time. They're all just words meant to signify your emotions. They can't help you fight the strife that your fellow mortals create toward one another: whether it be for race, religion, gender, nationality, or who you're fucking. You claim to use it positively in the expansion of the world, but all the great conquests of this planet were always created with negative emotions such as cowardice, hate, and nihilism. You can't use them to fight death, that's for damn sure. No matter how positive and optimistic you are in life, Death comes for you regardless and gives the same end as all those around you – no special cases. And most of all, you can't use those pretty words to fight off pestilence. Sickness will always find you, and your body will always, always, ALWAYS belong to me."

He stood in front of the four of them and continued to shine a twisted smile. "What a sad state of affairs you mortals live in. You just can't be wrong, ever. You have to be right at everything you do, and when you don't get your way, you lash out and attack others for it. All in the name of pretty words like love, friendship, and family. You four may look down on me right now, but I can tell you're terrified of everything I'm saying, because you all know deep down inside, that if all of you were starving and needed something to eat, you'd all gang up on the weakest one and chow down like the savages that you are."

The monster crossed his arms and laughed long and hard. As it faded, his smile disappeared, replaced with malice and discontent. "The old civilizations fell like that, and this one will go the same way. And just like the final days of Ooo, it will go not with a bang... but with a whimper..."

Margaret leaned back and took in some phlem from the inside of her nose, and launched it mixed with saliva at Pestilence. It struck him right between the eyes. She grinned and told him to, "go to hell."

Pestilence wiped the spit off his face and swiftly got in her face. She tried to back away, but her feet were being held to the ground by the many hands of her captor. "Hell?" he repeated. "You haven't seen Hell yet, sweet girl."

The area around her enclosed, and she was soon in a bared cage – alone with Pestilence. The boys ran over to the cage and grabbed at the bars, but were snatched by their feet and dragged away into separate corners of the five pointed room.

The cage shook and moved itself over to the last corner of the room. Margaret stepped away, hugging the bars behind her. She tried to shake them and see if they could be dislodged, but they were stuck in place too well.

"Hell, Margaret," Pestilence continued, "is watching a species of creatures with criminally short life spans take all that time they're given and squander it away on frivolous worries: such as worrying too much about how others see you, and not how you see yourself."

He melded through the bars, leaving her inside. He turned away and began to walk toward another corner. As he did, his lip twitched, and the bars on the inside began to bend inward, snapping off on one end. They slowly extended toward her, and stopped just barely short of various parts of her body.

"You had the key to your 'cage' the whole time, you daft girl," he echoed.

The pipes hissed, and they all impaled her, going completely through her body. She twitched at the sudden shock of it for one second, and then went limp the second. She stood in a suspended sort of way, with the black bars and solid ooze throughout her body: across her wings, through her stomach and lungs, around one side and out the other, one through her beak and jammed at the end of her throat. There was even one through her eye, going through her skull and jabbing just barely through the underside of her brain. And yet she wasn't dead. All she felt was excruciating pain as Pestilence refused to let her die.

The monster approached Don next and knelt down to the laying raccoon. Don was doing his best to undo the hand around his ankle, but the panic inside him stopped him from accomplishing anything it. His hands kept slipping off from all the sweat in his palms: the fur on them was completely soaked, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"And then there's you," Pestilence whispered.

It caught Don's attention, shifting his focus on the man. The raccoon looked behind him and saw the work he had done to Margaret and felt his heart skip three beats in a split second. "Let me out," he begged. "Please let me out."

Pestilence sighed almost sympathetically and leaned forward. He gently cupped cheek bones into his hands and felt his forehead against his own. "You just want to be loved and cared for. Not only that, but you have so much 'sugar' to give, it's just coming out at all ends, isn't it?"

Don shuttered and began to cry. "Please let me out."

"Everyone needs to feel a little love every now and then," Pestilence continued. "But you worry so much about the outcome, you fail to notice what's happening in the present."

Don closed his eyes. It then leans in and kissed the raccoon on the lips, forcefully opening his mouth. The animal gagged as something disgusting and sick crept into his mouth and began to play with his tongue and gums. But it went farther than that, going down his throat, attaching itself into the insides of his teeth, and going deeper and deeper. It was inside his belly now, dancing and playing about, splashing the stomach acid inside for fun. It made holes everywhere it went: his teeth began to fall out, it began to slowly tear his tongue apart, the acid lept through the holes inside him, sending a burning pain throughout his intestines... and the thing inside him kept spreading and dancing, creating holes from the inside, but not through the flesh on the outside. Don opened his eyes and found Pestilence in the same position he had left him: he hadn't been kissed.

Pestilence stood up and snapped the piece of blackness that had entered Don's body off of his shoulder and began to walk away. He shook his head and let his voice reverberate around the room: "You obsessed over the answer, without even checking to see what the question was."

Don twitched and convulsed on the floor as he felt it reach his brain. They began to play with his nervous system and motor skills. He couldn't control himself anymore, or the thoughts he was thinking. His body was filled to the brim with sickness, and it was having too much fun destroying him ever so slowly. In a quick flash, it tore his heart apart into pieces. And yet he wasn't dead. All he felt was excruciating pain as Pestilence refused to let him die.

His sights were set toward the old man in another corner. He wasted no time making his way there.

Pops had seen what this gentleman of bad taste... no... Pops could not call him a gentleman. He was thinking about Timothy Reynolds. He was thinking about the person he thought Pestilence was. But as it turned out, Pops never knew Timothy Reynolds. All he knew was the gutted out husk of a man that once went by that name. What he knew was that the thing coming toward him was no gentleman – it was a devil.

"You're... you're not a nice man!" Pops screamed trying to sound defiant. "You're the worst person I have ever met in my life, and I hate you!"

"I wonder," Pestilence curiously twitched. "Am I the first person you've ever said that too? Am I the first person you've ever shown disgust and true displeasure for?"

Pops didn't answer. He just looked at the slowly shuffling monster with anger in his eyes. Pops had never felt anger like this before, and by the looks of it, it amused his captor.

"I was wondering when your father's hate was going to catch up to you," Pestilence laughed. "If you had just shown that a little earlier, than you probably wouldn't still be stuck at that horrible park acting like the empty headed idiot that you think you are." He stopped in front of Pops and waited for another strange reaction. However, he was shocked to find that Pops remained still and set with fire in his eyes. "You're such a waste," the monster said.

The old man was then encased in a bubble filled with nothing but black sludge.

"So much potential," the creature continued. "You could have been so much more than your father. And yet, you spent it all in self depreciation of yourself. Sure, you may be a little empty headed and overly excitable, but you still knew how to do things more efficiently than that fossil you call a father. Such a waste..."

Pops swam inside, his vision almost completely obstructed by the darkness around him. He could just barely make out Pestilence's shadow outside his bubble. He had no time to hold his breath by the time it had come up around him, so his supply was limited. But the bubbles that escaped his lips disintegrated as they left him, giving him no reusable oxygen supply. His lungs began to burn, and he felt he might pass out. But there was something inside the water that was keeping him from such. His mouth slowly began to fill with the putrid ooze, crawling down his throat and eventually filling up his lungs. He could no longer breath. The inside of his chest felt like it was going to burst, and he swam violently to escape.

Pestilence shook his head and turned on his heel toward his next prey. "Such a pity" he sighed. "You were so busy sobbing and choking on your own short comings and woes, you forgot how to do the most basic thing of all: breath."

Pops had never felt such a painful and uncomfortable feeling before in his life. He felt the water from his throat touch the roof of his mouth. It had no where else to go now. The water slipped into his corneas and began to flutter and smear whatever vision he had left. Stars... so many stars... He felt as though he were floating endlessly in space, with no air to breath, and no life within him to sustain. And yet he wasn't dead. All he felt was excruciating pain as Pestilence refused to let him die.

And so, Pestilence stopped in front of Benson. He frowned at him and just sighed.

"I would love to do nothing more than open up your glass dome and fill your head with my sickness just to watch you squirm and die most of all. More so than that."

Benson looked over at his three friends, feeling almost numb on the inside. He couldn't stand watching them all get tortured so evilly, but knew that his time was coming.

"And why not?" he asked weakly. "You got a hard on for gumball machines?"

Pestilence smiled and shook his head. "You're close."

He looked down to his side and out stepped Veronica from behind him. Her face was still disapproving of the things he was doing, but now there was a sense of sadness inside those eyes of her.

"I told him not to kill you at the very least," she said frankly. "You get to go free."

Benson's face twisted into confusion. He wasn't sure if he heard what she said exactly. "Go free?" he asked her back. "Why?"

Pestilence waved his hand in a dismissing manner, and the hand latched onto Benson's ankle disappeared. "It was the one condition of me going after Skips. You wouldn't believe how infuriated I was when I found out you used to be my competition. Apparently, I just wasn't allowed to lay a finger on you." He glares down at Veronica with a loving scorn. "I seriously don't understand what you saw in him."

Veronica glared back, sending an actual chill down the man's spine. "He doesn't deserve this," she snapped back. "None of them do, but most of all, Benson. He may have been a loaf about when I knew him, but that doesn't mean he deserves all this torture. He's already tortured himself enough after the matter of fact."

"Yeah," Pestilence grimaced, "but I was so looking forward to doing the most horrible things to him imaginable. But I guess Maellard will do that to him when he gets thrown back out without his son or anyone else. And for the record, love," he continued, looking at his wife, "I said I was going to give him the choice to live. I didn't say I was going to let him live regardless."

The hand keeping the gumball machine down let up, allowing Benson to stand on his feet. "Veronica... why?"

His former love took a step forward and shrugged. "Don't take it the wrong way, Benson. In some twisted little way I still like you as that loving and carefree man I knew a long time ago, but that's not really why I wanted you to survive. I want you to do what I told you back at the Coffee Shop. I want you to go live your life to its fullest and just be happy for a change." Her smile was sincere as she spoke.

But Benson didn't want any of it.

"Cut the crap, Veronica!" he screamed. "Do you honestly think I could enjoy the rest of my life with all of this hanging over my head?" He waved his arms around him at the heinous scene. He then looked up at Pestilence and narrowed his eyes to the monster. "Letting me go after all of this works pretty good for you wouldn't it, Pestilence? Then you could just watch me suffer til I croak, is that it?"

The creature of sickness grinned evilly, cutting through Benson's soul. "It did cross my mind, yes."

"Pestilence!" Veronica yelled. "Keep your mouth shut! I can deal with this."

"Apparently not if he's not going to accept our offer," the demon bellowed. "It's a once in a lifetime event that I actually give someone the chance to live without any sort of sickness, and he's squandering it, so I think I should be allowed to kill him."

"And I said no!" she argued.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

The two began to bicker back and forth in a lover's spat, in quite possibly, the most inopportune and inappropriate of times. Benson rolled his eyes at the two of them, and looked at the other four corners, watching the pain that had befallen his friends. He wanted to throw up as he watched them suffer, but kept his composure.

"You're a bitch," he muttered to the woman.

The arguing couple ceased their squabble and looked at him, shocked. "What did you just say?" Veronica asked with her mouth agape.

"You heard me," Benson sighed. "You're a bitch. You're a cold hearted, uncaring bitch! You really are an ice queen."

Pestilence curled his lip angrily. "Watch what you say, toy dispenser."

"Shut up!" he snapped. "Just shut the hell up, for once. I am sick of listening to you gloat and preach so just shut up." Benson looked back at Veronica with daggers and gritted his teeth down hard. "Don't stand there and tell me you want me to live and be happy while the rest of my friends die. You know what that makes you? A bitch. Probably the worst I've ever met. Don't tell me you deserve any sympathy from me, because if this was your plan the whole time, you're just as guilty as he is." He pointed to accusingly to Pestilence. "You two really do deserve each other. You're both monsters."

Veronica's expression changed from shocked, to disappointed. She had never heard him say such malicious things before. And it was all he wanted to see. Seeing that showed at least she still had some compassion left in her. But obviously not enough for him to forgive her.

Skips coughed, sending some blood down onto the floor. His cries caught Benson's attention, who took the opportunity of the stunned couple and ran over to the yeti. He looked up at Skips, who looked back down with a guilt and a pained smile. He was doing his best to try and keep a good spirit with the gumball machine, but even Benson knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with that.

"I wouldn't bother with him," Pestilence interrupted. "I intend to keep him here and torture him just as long as your friends over there until the day you die. Then I'll let him go, and take the rest of your friends bodies as well."

Even Veronica shuttered at that kind of hell. "Seriously, love?"

Pestilence thought about it. "Oh, alright," he sighed, "I'll let Benson take the bodies back with him."

"That's... better?" the girl replied. Even she wasn't sure about just out and out killing these peoples. She had become used to her husband's "line of work" ever since she met him, and had seen a couple of deaths in her life. But watching people she knew get trampled and tortured? It was an odd sensation to say the least. And after what Benson just screamed at her...

"Yes it is!" Pestilence agreed with a happy grin. "I'll send them back alive, is that better?"

"You mean it?" Veronica said, surprised. "You'll let them go alive."

"Alive, yes," the man answered. "In good spirits, no. I sincerely doubt any of them are going to get away without at least one mental illness at some..."

Benson rammed into him...

"...again!"

...sending Pestilence to the ground. However, instead of backing away like he had done before with this strangely familiar ritual, he leered over the man and began to slam his fist in the sickness's face repeatedly.

Benson grunted and screamed as he waled on the creature, beating into his face with cold steel and iron. All of his strength kept away was spent simply on trying to destroy his face. Because maybe – just maybe – it might be enough to free them, and give them an exit, and live happily ever after. And while it was a thought that would never happen, it was the only chance Benson had.

"Benson, stop!" Veronica demanded as she tried to restrain her fellow machine.

"It's alright!" Pestilence spat out. "Let him have his fun! If it gets it out of his system, then let him have it his way. It's not going to do him any good anyways."

"But it's not going to solve anything!' she argued. Her attention shifted back to Benson. "Stop this, Chiclet! You're only going to make it worse for the rest of your friends if you keep this up."

Upon hearing that caring and compassionate tone in her voice, Benson felt the rest of his rage slip out, turning his head nearly a black shade of purple. He gritted his teeth, reached around, and backhanded the woman trying to stop him. The shock both physically and emotionally sent her to the ground.

Benson growled liked a dog at her. "I wish I had never met you. I WISH I HAD NEVER FUCKING MET YOU!"

Something inside him tore through his back, spreading out inside his gears, and then protruding out his front side. Their was no pain as first, with his mind believing he had imagined the feeling. But as he looked down, he found what looked like a black tree branch sticking out of his crank. He looked behind him and was face to face with the fuming scowl of Pestilence, with his arm through the Benson's chassis.

"No one touches my love like that," he hatefully screeched through his teeth.

It came from all over finally, spikes impaling Benson from the inside out. They stretched out a few inches outside his body, and then retracted back in, leaving visible holes all over his body. It lasted less than a few seconds, but the sensation and horrific pain that came from it felt like it had lasted a few life times. Pestilence broke his arm off inside him, and let it turn to ooze. Another arm simply grew back in the place of the stump.

Pestilence spat at his dome, and kicked the near death body of the gumball machine. "That'll teach ya." He frowned further when he saw Benson's dome was still in pristine condition. "God damn it, what is that thing made out of?"

"Stop it, Pessie," Veronica coughed as she sat up. "He's right. I deserved that."

Pestilence ignored her and continued to vent anger, kicking Benson in the process. As he watched the gumball machine squirm about, he noticed little bits of black fall onto him from above. He looked up and shook his head at the cause.

"Leave him alone!" Skips rasped as he shook the foundation of his spikes.

The demon showed no ill will towards the yeti. After all, Skips was only wanting to protect "what was his". Unfortunately for him, so was Pestilence.

A tendril appeared from out of the ground and wrapped itself around Benson's neck. It lifted him up to Pestilence's eye level, and squeezed down tight. The already weak man felt the air passage in his neck close up, keeping him from breathing.

Veronica watched with disgust. "Pestilence, stop this! You promised me..."

"...I promised you I would give him the choice to live," he snapped at her. "He doesn't want it, so let him die."

He forced the tentacle down, slamming Benson's body into the ground. He did it again and again, creating a strange rhythm that began to mimic around the walls and ceilings. The room suddenly sounded like a constant set of drums beating against a hollow base.

He ceased his crashing of Benson, and allowed the drums around him to create a song in his head. The monster began to dance around like he had done so many times before, as the claws and weapons began to protrude from his body.

"Please stop!" Veronica begged.

"I'm sorry, my sweet," Pestilence sighed as he began to twirl. "But if he doesn't want the chance to live, then there's only one other option I can give him."

He then rushed towards Benson, ramming into him in a vengeful manner and a hideous grin on his face. "_On candy stripe legs the spider man comes_," he began to sing. "_Softly through the shadow of the evening sun..._"

Veronica stood up and tried to stop him, but a see-through black wall came up in front of her, stretching up to the ceiling. Both her and Skips were forced to watch Pestilence brutalize the gumball machine.

The monster danced around with Benson as his partner, throwing him into the walls and throwing "weapons" at him, watching them stick and protrude out of his body. He was much more angry and forceful in his torture with Benson than the others. But he still retained that sense of pleasure and fun as he continued to sing and prance about as if he were an excited child on his birthday.

"_Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead, looking for the victims shivering in bed..._"

He reached his fist back, solidifying some of the ooze on it, creating a sort of concrete substance around his knuckles. He winked at Benson, and brought his fist upon the man. Benson went flying across the room and hitting the wall. But as he hit it, he went flying back toward Pestilence. The rhythm of the "drum" was pushing him away from the wall. Pestilence laughed as he punched the machine again, and happily repeated the process a few times.

"_Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and suddenly, a movement in the corner of the room!_"

Veronica banged against the wall and watched her husband attack her former love. This was too much for her. She couldn't say that her love was wrong, considering he did say he was going to give Benson the choice of escaping his grasp, though, that wasn't the original choice he wanted to give him. It was originally life without Skips or a lifetime of sickness. She didn't like either of those choices for Benson, but she was assured that whatever sickness Benson was going to be given, it was going to be liveable and not life threatening. This was beginning to go too far.

"Too far?" she thought. "This is far enough. I'm in way over my head." She had condemned her old love to death by the hand of her new one.

More black flakes and ooze came down onto the floor. Veronica looked up at Skips. He looked defeated and completely broken. But there was a glint in his eyes that told her he had a plan.

"Alright," Skips whispered into the air. "Alright you win... I give up. As long as he doesn't win, you can have me... on one condition."

Back outside, Pestilence continued his fun, juggling Benson in the air playfully before impaling him into the ceiling. "_And there's nothing I can do..._" he sings along, pulling Benson down. "_When I realize with fright..."_

Benson hazily shudders as he suddenly feels pressure against his head. His sight was beginning to fade, but even he could see the black hands clasped around his head, squeezing down. Over time, more began to come over him, covering his vision in darkness as the pressure increased.

Pestilence smiled with and glared at Benson's slowly disappearing head.

Things begin to erupt in sound around Benson in the darkness. At first, he wasn't sure as to what must have been slowly happening outside. He could hear Skips, and he could hear other voices. There was a racket going on outside the noir and he just wanted to know what it was. Crashes and the sound of things breaking and exploding escaped, like a fight had broken out.

But these sounds didn't seem muffled or nearby by any means. They seemed closer, like they were there with him in the darkness. The audio became clear, and he could hear the sound of green grass whistling in the wind, and the creak of a tree branch behind him. A golf cart whizzed by him, with the familiar "Oooohing" of Mordecai and Rigby. He wondered what it was those two slackers had done to be in such a good mood.

Something sounded like metal then, not like the material, but the music. There was a rather off kilter tone to the person singing the lyrics. It was deep and over the top, but full of excitement. Muscle Man always did enjoy a good rift here and there. Benson could only guess that High Five Ghost was floating somewhere near him, jamming his head along with the music. They were a good choice, he thought. He had his reservations when he and Pops hired them, but now, those seemed like childish worries in the long run. It went better than expected.

Speaking of the loliman: that familiar laughter giggled all around, as well as another deeper laugh. Maellard and Pops must have been having a picnic. It was so rare to see Maellard in such high spirits, but his son usually did bring out the best in him. Benson had underestimated the kindness of his employer. After seeing him act so... emotional around the gumball machine, it gave the man a new persona that Benson never thought existed. And Pops: Pops was someone who was more organized and committed to his work than he ever thought. Perhaps Pops would make as good a CEO to his father's company. Maybe even more so than his father.

Margaret's humming caught his hearing a second later. She hummed along something almost sad, but with a sense of optimism to it. He could see her trudging through the park, out on her morning run. She'd wave to the park staff, and stop as soon as she saw Mordecai. The two would see each other and quickly embrace as lovers so often did, talking about the others day and how excited they were for their next sunrise. She laughed so carefree. It warmed Benson's heart.

Poor Rigby though, left alone with a girl he may or may not like. But both he and Eileen smiled at each other though, gaining more of an understanding for the other. Their grins widened as Don came up from behind them and gave them both a big heaping helping of sugar. Eileen giggled and gladly gave Don a little back, before giving some extra to Rigby. Rigby seemed to actual enjoy both the girl and Don's company strangely. When it was done, Don put them back done and ran off into the distance toward some strange shadow, overly excited to see them.

Benson was happy to see everyone in such wonderful moods. But where was Skips though? He couldn't find him anywhere, even though he could still hear his voice. So where was he? He wanted to see Skips and... well... his body shivered with anticipation and lust. He wanted to be close to him, to hold him, to kiss him, to just remain next to him even. Skips made him feel warm and needed. Life seemed a little better and more tolerable when the yeti was around. All he wanted to do at that moment was find Skips and-

His thoughts went blank and his body numbed, and a second later... there was no more Benson.

Pestilence licked his lip at the satisfying sound of glass cracking. The hand all over Benson's dome released, and a broken and ruined chassis fell to the ground along with thousands of small glass pieces and gumballs. The headless body bounced limply onto the stone tile of the diamond as the drumming rhythm around the room ceased.

"_The spider man is having you for dinner tonight..._"

Veronica screamed at the sight, attracting Pestilence's attention. He looked over at the wall and readied to rid it, but stopped as he saw the silhouette of a third person in it. He examined it curiously, but grunted and gritted his teeth as he recognized the size and shape of the creature.

The shadow behind the wall then took something from behind itself, and slashed it at the wall. A scythe came striking through the darkness like a hot knife threw butter, shattering it into nothing. The pieces fell like rain, burning into ash before they even hit the wall. Death smiled with pride at his brother. He retracted his blade and returned it behind me.

"I win," Death said with a happy little tone.

* * *

><p><strong>Lullaby –<strong>_ The Cure_

**Liberate te ex inferis**_**  
><strong>__...lleh morf flesruoy evaS..._

_Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	29. VI

**Chapter Twenty-Nine  
><strong>**VI**

"You win?" Pestilence cocked his eyebrow and snarled at the man. "Since when? I don't see his soul anywhere in your possession."

Death only continued to smile before tapping his foot into the ground. The spikes inside of Margaret retracted and her wounds immediately healed up. The pain spreading throughout Don's body stopped and he found himself in control of his body again. The bubble burst and Pops splashed out, throwing up any "water" in his belly, and taking in large and deep breaths. A moment later the three felt there bodies shiver, and the sickness inside them flashed out, igniting and fading into nothing in the process. Not only were they alive, but they were clean of Pestilence's evil.

Pestilence watched all of his handy work come undone and became even more enraged. He wanted answers. Death just came in unannounced and suddenly decided to save their lives? Something was wrong. "What the fuck is wrong with you!" he screamed at his brother. "What do you think you're doing? I have everything under control here!"

"It's over mate," Death said with joy across his lips. "I've won."

"And I'll ask again," the sickness snapped, "since when?"

"Well..."

Death stepped aside and found Skips down from his impalement, his wounds healed, and his hands in bone shackles with long finger bone chains. His expression had surrendered to melancholy, but had a sense of pride upon it.

Pestilence clamped down his teeth and began to tighten his jaw. "You gave up?" he hissed through the whites. "Why the hell would you do something like that? I thought you were afraid of him!"

Skips sighed and shook his head. "My friends are more important than my life. I'd do anything to make sure they were..." He stopped himself when he noticed the mess of metal and glass behind the monster. The yeti tried to rush over to it, but Death stopped him in his tracks.

"Now now, Skips," Death smugly said, "You shouldn't worry about anything right now. Your good friend, Death, has everything taken care of." The reaper then looked over at Benson and quickly appeared over him in a puff of smoke and light. He looked down at the man in shambles and clicked his tongue shamefully at Pestilence. "I thought you promised your girl, Pes."

Pestilence roared at him, the fleshy form he had beginning to crumble into darkness as he began to lose control of his temper. "The fucking yeti gave himself up for his friends? And you're going to just let him have his way!"

Death knelt down and examined a piece of glassy dome. "If it means winning our little bet then I don't see why not." He then reeled back and hocked a loogie onto the pile of scrap metal.

It caused the remains to glow in an ethereal and heavenly light as they slowly lifted into the air and began to snap back into place, as if it knew the solution to the puzzle already. In a short time, the legs and arms had already been placed back onto the body, and the machine's insides were began to reform again. The glass fused back together with it's brethren, as the face on Benson's head began to come back into focus once more. Any chipped away paint or damages to the chassis were restored and everything about Benson was set again.

Pestilence could feel his own form melt away as he watched the horrid recreation unfold in front of him. This didn't sit well with him – not at all. He could feel his own rage bubble up cruelly inside of him.

"This is a mistake!" he shrieked. "I can't lose! I've been the one who's been trying to win this bet for the last few centuries – from the very start! Why should you get to take his soul home!"

Death breathed in contently and said: "Quit being a sore loser, Pes. I won. Skips here said he'd forfeit his soul as long as you didn't kill any of his friends and they got out safely."

Benson dropped to the ground, his body new and unused as if he were just born. He shivered as his consciousness began to return to him. His memory was hazy. All he remembered was darkness and something breaking. He wasn't even sure how long ago that was. In reality, he had only been dead for about three minutes.

"It's not fair!" Pestilence screamed.

"What can I say?" Death said with a shrug. "Death isn't far."

Pestilence forced his teeth down against one another until finally, each and everyone of them cracked under the pressure. The rest of Timothy's body melted away as he returned to his original form. He glared over at Benson's barely awake body and glinted at it with a thousand eyes.

"You know, you're right about one thing, Death?" he asked evilly.

It jumped back and began to coil itself around Benson's body. The gumball machine was brought back into full consciousness as the darkness enveloped him again. Only this time, it restrained him, making sure he couldn't move. Tentacles of blackness forced open his mouth and began to pour itself into his throat, and spread about his insides. It even came in through his eyes and nose, sending sharp pain throughout his body. Eventually, Pestilence had completely hidden himself inside of Benson's body. Benson's body quaked and moved around sporadically at first, but after a while, went still. He looked up at Death and blinked with dark colored eyes.

** "I'm a sore loser," Pestilence said in Benson's voice.**

* * *

><p>He was there again, caught in the darkness that he had come to know only as Pestilence. Benson twitched in it and did his best to swim through it. He couldn't let this thing overpower him. But this was much different than the last time. It was thicker, in an almost syrup like consistency. His arms flailed miserably as he tried to struggle toward some sort of imaginary light in the distance, hoping that the exit was just beyond his reach.<p>

But in a matter of moments, he felt his arms restrained and his legs caught taut, freezing in their place. A slit of light began to crack open in the distance, and he was sure that he had finally struggled his way out of that hell. Visions and sight returned to him as he looked on forward. Veronica, Skips, and Death stared at him, each holding a different expression: the girl's held shock and awe as he came conscious again, while the yeti's teeth grit and his hands shook in fear. Death remained in his spot though, looking almost amused, though slightly bored of the whole exercise.

"I'm a sore loser," Benson hissed at Death's general direction.

But that wasn't right. He never said that. His body was moving on its own.

"What's happening?" he tried to ask the others. But no words escaped his glass lips. Nothing at all, not even a whimper or a gasp. In fact, he was not in control of any of his bodily movements. Everything was going on without his permission.

Benson tried to panic, but his body didn't even react to the stress his mind was creating. Everything felt still and lifeless. There was nothing he could do but think to himself as his body began to take a step forward to Veronica. "Oh god," he quivered in his mind. He could feel the ground beneath him, the stagnant air, and could even smell the environmental mildew mixed in with Veronica's expensive French perfume.

"Let me out!" he tried to scream. "What's happening!"

_"I'm what's happening..."_ whispered a tiny voice in the back of his mind.

Benson recognized the malice and contempt from within it, and felt his mental shock rise. "Pestilence! But that means..."

_"It means exactly what you think it means..."_

His body went up to Veronica and placed its hands on her shoulders. The woman shuttered at first, unsure as to what this new abominable creature in front of her was. But when Benson leaned in and kissed her passionately, she instantly knew who was in control.

"Pess..." she said to him, with amazement on her face. "You took his body?"

"It appears that I did," he laughed in Benson's voice. "What do you think? I would think of all people you'd like it most of all."

Veronica's eye twitched. She wasn't exactly keen on her husband taking over the body of her former lover, but before she could stutter out an answer, a thought crossed her mind: if Pestilence took his body, that means Benson was still alive... and suffering. This wasn't at all what she wanted, and she made it quite clear as her hand slapped him clear across the face. "No," she said softly. "No, you can't do this. I didn't mind the others, but not him!" The gumball machine could already begin to feel the tears well up in her eyes. "He doesn't deserve that. I'd almost rather you let him die."

Pestilence sighed and wrapped the girl in his arms. "I'm sorry, my love. But I had to do something." His eyes glared down both his brother and the yeti with as much scorn as he could possibly muster. "I refuse to lose this bet. I've worked far too long on it for something like this to happen."

His stare was met with two emotions from their direction: anger and disappointment.

Skips could feel himself crack one of his own teeth as he continued to grit down on them. "You stupid piece of black ooze, puss spewing, death dealing, sickness spreading, disgusting, miserable, piece of SHIT!" His yell was so loud and roaring, it sent an echo throughout the room, and brought the others – still recovering – completely back to the reality of the situation. "Leave him alone!" Skips continued to scream. "It's done! It's over with! YOU LOST YOUR STUPID BET!"

Death nodded in agreement and stepped past the yeti. "I have to agree with ole Skips here," he replied with disappointment. "You lost, fair and square. No point in being the sore loser you so happily admit you are. Just let the gumball machine go, and be done with it."

"NO!" Pestilence harped. He pushed the girl gently aside and slowly approached the reaper. "You think I'm going to let you come in here and take his soul, just like that? I have been working on this for far too long to let it go with a whimper. The ball is still in play!"

Death grunted and reached behind himself for his scythe. However, at the last second, he pulled himself away, and let out a deep breath. "Fine," he sighed. "Fine! If you want the stupid gumball machine, you can have him." He turned around and looked at Skips with a tired grin. "Can we get going now?"

"Are you kidding?" Skips argued. "You promised me if I gave you my soul, then all my friends would leave here alive."

"Well they are, aren't they?" the demon answered sarcastically. "The only difference is that one is leaving possessed. I could care a less about anything else. As long as I get your friend's soul when he really does die, I don't care what he does with the body. So let's just get go..."

His speech was interrupted as Skips grabbed him by the vest and lifted him up off the ground in a threatening manner. "Tell him to let Benson go!" He fists were quaking, causing his grip to shake the body of Death. "If not, then do something...! Please..."

Death looked down at Skips and saw something he rarely noticed from all the years he had watched the yeti. He saw true and unmitigated fear – the kind that was usually reserved for someone who was afraid to meet their end. But Skips wasn't scared for himself, like Death thought he would be. He was scared for his friend.

Death looked back at Benson, now possessed by Pestilence. He stared deeply past the physical form and into his soul. There was something there he didn't quite understand. It was something that he knew Skips for: his unflinching resolve and his love for mortals. Death respected that. He had seen it so many times from the yeti before, but never understood it as much as he would have liked to. But by staring at Benson's soul, for only a split second, he could see what Skips saw.

"This bloke means a lot to you, doesn't he?" he asked with honest curiosity.

Skips didn't answer with a long winded confession or even a threat. Then only word that came out of his mouth was, "please."

Death felt a complaint stick in his throat that came out as a tired moan. "What the hell am I even doing?" he asked himself as he looked over at Benson. "Pestilence. Let the bloke go."

Pestilence in Benson's body scoffed at him, and shook his head. "If you want this body, you're going to have to pry it out of his cold dead fingers."

"That can be arranged, mate," Death laughed. He grabbed a hold of Skips arm and flipped around, before pulling himself free of the yeti's hold and pouncing on top of Pestilence. His speed was incredible, giving the other horseman no warning before he was on top of him. "Now instead of fighting like we always do," Death started, "how about we just let bygones be bygones, and just give Skips this one then, eh?" His request was received with a spit of black sludge in his eye.

"I like the fights," Pestilence retorted. "They make my slow and agonizingly long eternity much more interesting." He laughed to himself, but was quickly silenced as Death's scythe was stabbed into the ground next to his head, the force of it creating strange glowing cracks from it's point of impact.

"You are not going to spoil this for me," Death hissed between his teeth. "I have waited for far too long to let this opportunity pass by, and you are not going to ruin it like you always do."

"And how do I ruin things?" Pestilence said in childish voice.

"How about the time you created the bubonic plague?" his brother asked.

"That was meant to be a joke," Pestilence answered. "I'm sorry that you didn't get it, like everything else in your life."

"And what about Strife?" Death continued to argue. "You knew I had a crush on her, but you just had to steal her away like you did all the others."

Pestilence chuckled and stuck his tongue mockingly. "It's not my fault she had the hots for me first. Maybe if you weren't as frigid as a cold fish then you would have snagged her."

"And our little bet here? You always seem to be the one who's trying to speed Skips death along, aren't you?"

"And you're one to talk?" Pestilence screamed. "How many games have you played with Skips and lost, for possession of his immortal soul? You're just as cold and ruthless as I am!"

"Maybe," Death answered with a stern attitude, "but at least I don't get my jollies by twisting the minds of mortals and breaking their bodies with disease."

"No! You don't! And you know why that is?"

"Why?"

Pestilence gave a toothy grin and answered: "Because you don't have a shred of fun in your frail little skeleton body!" He laughed maniacally, only to be silenced by a punch by Death. "Careful now, Death. You don't want to accidentally kill Skips' little fuck toy, do you?"

Death brought down his fist again, feeling anger rise inside him. "No, but I don't think Benson will mind if I wale on you for a bit."

And he was right. While Benson felt ever blow from Death's large and menacing arm, he didn't mind it as long as Pestilence was receiving just as much of the pain.

_"You think they can save you?"_ Pestilence asked harshly to Benson. _"I'm not letting you go, gumball machine. I've had to wait centuries for this day, and I have no intention of letting it slip through my fingers."_

Suddenly, the world around Benson began to fade, and his vision slowly began to blur.

_"Why don't you take a little nap?"_ it said with a giggle. _"Yes... a nice long nap. And when you wake up... everyone you know will be gone, gone forever..."_

Benson once again tried to struggle, but he found his consciousness being silenced once more.

"No!" Benson tried to scream. "No no no! Not yet, please! I have to get out! Margaret! Don! Pops! Veronica! Dave! Skips! Somebody! Help me! I don't want to be stuck here like this! Please! Skips! Skips!"

"SKIPS!" Pestilence screamed out unconsciously. He held his mouth closed and tried to silence himself.

The yeti's eyes grew wide and knelt down next to the gumball machine. "Benson! Benson, I'm right here. Say something else!" He grabbed the machine's shoulder and prayed that Benson was gaining control over his body again.

"Damn it," Pestilence moaned as he took back control. "I need to get back out into the real world." He felt at the yeti's touch and sneered at it. "This game is getting old." With a flick of Benson's metallic arm, he sent the yeti flying across the room, sliding across the floor next to Margaret.

"Skips! Are you alright?" she asked, helping him up. Her mind was still fuzzy from earlier, and she was doing her best to understand the situation. "What's happening?"

The took in a breath, and looked at the girl with a sad look. "He took Benson."

* * *

><p>"It's cold," Benson whimpered as he tried his best to huddle up for warmth. The black snow continued to fall on the pale white surface of the world he had fallen onto. The horizon in the distance was always gray, and never changed no matter the time of day or night. It was cold there; it was never warm. It was beyond the threshold his body could even muster. So Benson found himself on the ground, trying to find the strength to move. But his body was sore and his joints were frozen in place. He couldn't even find the strength to shake.<p>

How long had he been there? He wasn't even sure anymore. All he remembered doing was falling out of the darkness and onto this place with no one but himself and the cold. When he had originally fallen there, he tried to call out for help from the people he knew, but received no answer back. So he began to walk and trudge along the quiet landscape. His footsteps created no sound as he stepped across the emptiness. He even tried banging against his body, but that too created no noise. At first, he was afraid that he might have gone deaf, but luckily, his voice was still audible... unfortunately. It echoed – repeatedly. Every time he opened his mouth, his voice would reverberate all around him for at least ten minutes before fading away. Even his whispers echoed all around him. He gave up talking after some time.

"It's cold..."

"It's cold..."

"It's cold..."

His voice repeated all around him, and he hated it. But he was too week to even try complaining anymore. All he could do was lay there and feel the black snow touch his chassis and stick there without melting. Some of it had even began to obstruct the vision across his dome. It sickened him to see his body get stained so easily while the blackness melted and disappeared as it touched the white of the ground.

He slowly reached out an arm and tried to pull himself forward, hoping that maybe he could drag himself to his next destination. There had to be something out there. But unfortunately, he just didn't have the strength to pull his weight, and it went all for naught. He sobbed unhappily, wiping away the black snow from his dome. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be angry or sad from the outcome anymore. His emotions had been a mixed bag ever since he got there.

"Someone, please," he whispered to the distance. "Someone, please help me."

The only answer he got back was his own, asking the same question back to him.

He couldn't take it, so he let his growing frost bitten rest and try to relax. Pestilence wouldn't honestly let him die there, would he? He was going to find out soon enough as the consciousness within him slowly disappeared.

It was strange though. He felt as though he had drifted off to sleep, but his mind was still conscious of the cold, and the bite of the snow. His body was relaxed and at rest, but his mind remained fully aware of the world around him. He hated it and tried to wake up.

As his eyes opened, he felt a slicing pain run through the palm of hand.

He dropped the knife he was using to cut his grapefruit into the kitchen sink, and stifled the gasp of pain that was surging throughout his tall body. He held onto the cut with his furry hand and tried to keep his lips pinned shut. He needed a place to vent. He looked around himself and found the basement door slightly a jar.

It was warm today, warmer than usually. His coworkers were still in the middle of finishing up preparations for the fundraiser, looking somewhat annoyed with the chores, but also a little excited for the day was about to bring.

Coworkers...

It made Don smile a little bit as he referred to all his friends as coworkers. It gave him a sense of belonging, and people he could call family. But at the moment, his thoughts were far from thinking about them. He tiptoed into the basement, making sure not to alert Maellard or Timothy. The last thing he wanted to do was get anybody in his family upset or worried for him.

Don closed the door behind him with his good hand, while keeping the other one face up so that blood wouldn't get everywhere. He stepped down the steps and looked around for something to wipe the blood off with. Thankfully, there was a roll of paper towels nearby used for cleaning up some of the basement spills and messes. He grabbed some and quickly placed it over his bleeding palm.

"Deep breaths, Don," he told himself. "Take some deep breaths. Lots of deep breaths." He began to take in long strands of breath and letting them out in a steadfast rhythm. "It's just a cut. You don't need to worry about it. You gotta work on keeping the fundraiser in tip top shape and making sure all the park patrons are happy. You can do that, Don," he told himself.

He took in another gulp, and chocked on the breath. His cough came out as a sob and he fell to his knees as everything around him felt like it was beginning to collapse. With his clean hand, he held his mouth closed and began to cry out his frustrations into it, muffling the sound as tears poured out of his eyes.

"I can't do this," he said into his hand. "I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this."

The stress was too much. Benson was right all along. He couldn't keep up with the demand, or the work load, or the stress. He certainly couldn't deal with so many unhappy people when it came to getting things set up for this. If he couldn't handle such simple tasks though, how was he supposed to help others at the park when they needed it?

His thoughts fluttered to Benson, and his panic began to subside. He couldn't let him down, not yet. Benson had put so much faith into him, and Don knew he couldn't let his employer down. He had to fight through all of this.

No...

That wasn't it at all...

The truth was...

...he didn't want to fail Benson. He didn't want to fail Benson because then that would spoil his chances of getting closer to him. Don didn't care about the park. He just wanted to be close to Benson somehow. He wanted to hold him, give him sugar, kiss him, everything. He wasn't sure what it was that sent him into such a wild streak with the gumball machine, but for some reason, he just made him happy. Would Benson reciprocate those feelings though?

A chilled wind swept across dawn, forcing him to cover his eyes from the icy assault.

When he opened them, he found himself somewhere different, feeling angry and anxious all at the same time. His fur felt different, not there at all even.

"You know," Veronica said across the room. "I expect to hear all the nasty details about you two when you get back."

Margaret didn't answer her. She simply huffed out some air out the nose holes on her beak, and hung up her apron. The last thing she wanted before her date with Benson was to listen to this bitch go on and about her friend.

"I know everything about him," she continued, rolling croissants as she spoke. "So if he does something that seems weird or a little off, just remember that that's just how he does things."

Margaret really didn't want to hear it. "Don't you have better things to do than sit there and act like a raging bitch behind my back. Like say, I don't know, rolling chocolate inside those croissants?"

Veronica twisted her lips and looked down at her work. Sure enough, she had forgotten to put the key ingredient that would have made them chocolate croissants. The gumball machine kicked the counter and began to slowly unroll the few she had finished, trying to make sure the dough didn't rip.

"Serves you right," Margaret said under her breath.

Once her uniform was off, and she was completely cleaned up, she ran over to the small mirror over the kitchen sink and did one more once over.

Her face seemed clean, her body was fit, and everything seemed to be alright. True, she did look a little exhausted, and could have done with maybe an hour to rest, but that was what the date was for.

She had convinced herself that her evening out with Benson was going to be nothing more than friends hanging out and just enjoying each other's company. At least she had done a good job telling herself that. In actuality, the red robin hoped that maybe their date might turn into something more. Benson seemed like someone much different from the others. He seemed like a person who was not only committed, but had a sparkling personality to boot. Sure, he was a little short tempered, and she had heard nothing but bad things from the boys, but she didn't care.

Benson had been the nicest man to her lately, aside from Mordecai, and she was getting sick of Mordecai trying to make the first move. She could have actually asked the blue jay out herself, she was just too shy about the usual anxiety about herself, as well as the reaction Mordecai would have. God knows she had been walked out on more than enough when people had found out.

Margaret looked down at her deep crimson feathers, and licked her lips uncomfortably. She had a feeling the yeti knew already. According to Mordecai and Rigby, he apparently knew everything. And when she was around him, it just felt sort of... strange. Skips was nice to her and all, but he gave off this knowing feeling, and it put Margaret on edge for some reason.

But now wasn't the time to be thinking about the yeti. Now was the time to be concerned with her date, and the hopeful outcome of it. If all went well, she was going to wake up tomorrow, give go to work, and on her break, call the gumball machine and see if he wanted to go on another date. And if he said yes, then that was going to be when she would tell him. Usually, she waited to the third date so that the man could get to know her better, but this time she thought it might be better to get the awkwardness out of the way before hand.

"The feathers on the back of your head are sticking out," Veronica commented, breaking Margaret's train of thought.

The bird felt at the back of her head and felt some terrible lumps forming back there. She sighed and tried to press them down with her palm, but unfortunately, nothing did the trick.

"Here."

An object was thrown into the sink. Margaret looked down into it and found a gray pocket comb. She looked over at Veronica, who gave her a very small smile and returned to baking.

Margaret cleared her throat and took the comb. "Thanks," she expressed quickly as she put the teeth through her feathers. When in was patted down, she approached Veronica, and put the comb down next to her. She didn't make eye contact, believing that doing so might make her seem like a loser. Though there was no competition between the girls.

"Don't break his heart, okay?" Veronica whispered to her. "He doesn't need it broken by someone like you."

Margaret cleared her throat and sneered at the woman. "Someone like me?"

Veronica didn't say anymore though, leaving the red robin to wonder what she meant.

She didn't feel like dwelling on it though and just began to storm out of the room in a hurry. Margaret thought for a moment that Veronica was expressing some sort of human emotion, but apparently she was wrong. She took in a deep breath, and exited the room. But as she exited though, she could have sworn that heard the faintest sob.

She chocked it up to her wild imagination and stepped out the door to greet Benson in the dining room.

"Pops, my boy," Maellard began on the other side, "I have to admit, you did an amazing job with that play." His smile spread from cheek to cheek.

Pops mimicked it and rubbed his fingers together in shy embarrassment. "Thank you so much, Papa. It means a lot to hear that coming from you."

"Yes sir, my boy," the eldest man continued, "I think it may be time for you to start getting ready for the future!"

The tall naïve man looked at his father strangely, cocking his head to one side in confusion. "What is it that you mean, Papa?"

Maellard looked at him fondly, remembering the small boy he had raised. "I think that it's time for you to start learning how to take control of the future, Pops. This play that you put on has certainly shown me just what kind of leader you can turn out to be."

"I'm afraid I still do not understand," Pops replied.

Maellard heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm getting on in years. All this business with Bad News and needing to hire a body guard at this age has made me come face to face with my mortality I'm afraid." He looked out into the distance at the small speck of light left in the day. "I won't be around forever, Pops."

His son stumbled a bit upon hearing that. It was difficult for someone as innocent and sweet as Pops to hear anything like that from anyone, especially his father. "Why are you telling me all of this, Papa?"

"Because," Maellard went on, "I want you to step down as lead of the park, and come study under me so that you can take better care of my businesses and the city when it comes time for me to pass on."

Pops felt his body go cold. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. "Me?" he squeaked out.

Maellard nodded and continued to smile proudly at his only child. "Yes, you. I think it's finally time to take you under my wing and teach you the ways of business, just as my father did, and his mother before him, and her father as well."

"A-a-are you sure?" Pops stuttered. "Are you absolutely sure?"

He nodded again. "I've thought long and hard about this, Pops. And after seeing the way you led that performance this evening, I've finally made up my mind and decided to give you a chance." He slowly stepped over to the tall man and gave him a fatherly slap on the arm. "So the first thing I need you to do is find Benson sometime in the next day or two, and ask him if he'd like your job."

Pops was almost speechless. "My job?"

"Yes sir! Tell him I'm going to give him 30% raise, as well as more time off, and some additional benefits as well. If you want, you can also tell him to promote Skips as well. Goodness knows that yeti has been squatting on this property long enough and deserves something."

Pops wasn't sure how to take in this information. On the one hand, he was happy to hear that Benson and Skips would get promotions, but what about him? Was he really ready for something like this? "Papa, I don't know if..."

"I'm going to have to interrupt you Pops," Maellard stopped. "I know what you're going to say, and I can guarantee you that you are ready for this."

"But Papa..."

"I'm afraid that my mind is made up, Pops," the old man said as he slammed his cane into the ground once to get the point across. "We can't keep putting this off forever."

But Pops wanted to. He didn't want this, not yet. He always thought that he still had a few more years before he had to worry about his father's businesses. There was too much to do. He would have to leave the park and all of his friends behind. Would he be able to still visit them while he was being taught, or would they be allowed to come and visit him? Pops had no doubt that he was going to see Benson and Skips, but Mordecai and Rigby, as well as Muscle Man and High Five Ghost were up in the air.

He wondered what the training was going to be like and if it meant he would have to be more stern and unforgiving as his father. He loved his father dearly, but that one aspect about him is what made him wonder about the future. Pops could never be as hard and strict as his father. He and Benson were always so much better at that than him. And what about Benson?

Benson was already under a lot of stress with Bad News, and the play, and the park, and everything else in between. He certainly would be appreciative of the promotion and the extra money, but the additional responsibilities could send him over the edge. Pops already knew that out of the whole Bad News situation, Benson seemed to be suffering the most out of the whole group. Would Benson be able to take on a new job as well as try and protect the park from something as foul as that creature?

Too many questions, and no time for any answers.

Maellard turned his gaze away from Pops and noticed a man waving to him in the distance. "Ah! There's Timothy. I'm afraid I must be going now, Pops. But I'll talk to you tomorrow, and expect to hear good news then as well!" He gave his son another proud slap on the arm and turned to walk away.

He joined up with Timothy, who looked haggard and a little concerned about something, but Pops wasn't paying too much attention to him as it was. The naïve man was more concerned about the things his father had said to him, as well as what the future held for him as well. If he had been paying attention to Timothy, he would have seen the man cocking an usual glance toward him, scheming something all the while.

The last of the daylight disappeared, and he was lost in darkness once again.

"I'm begging you!" screamed Skips in the darkness. "Can't you do something about him?"

The stars above lit up like lanterns, shining down a cool glow onto the park and the scene that unfolded.

The cleansing ritual was finished. The park was spared of any trace of Pestilence, and with it finished, gave Skips enough time to try and bargain with an old friends. He was on his knees, practically begging the two men for some sort of guidance in the situation.

"I don't know what to do," he said with fear. "He's not going to give up. I know he's just trying to play with me right now. He's probably getting information or some other crap like that. I don't know how, but he is. I just... I just don't want this to happen again!" He looked up at the two men, and continued to plead. "Just tell me what I can do to get rid of him!"

Death and Gary exchanged glances. Neither one of them had a real solution to the problem.

"Look, mate," Death started first, "I don't know what's going through ole Pessie's head right now. Out of the four of us, he's definitely the most mentally disturbed. And truth be told, I can't really do much for ya. The bet he and I made has kept both of us from reaping your soul or killing you in some cruel manner." He snorted some phlegm in his nose and spit it out onto the ground. "I really don't care about the bet anymore. I'd like to have your immortal soul now, but I know you won't give it up without a fight. Hell, I wasn't even being that serious when we made that dumb bet, and yet he took it 100% serious. 'Fraid I can't do anything unless one of us wins the bet somehow, mate." The bringer of death sighed and simply shook his head.

Seeing as Death was no help, Skips turned his attention to Gary.

"Don't look at me," the angelic creature replied. "I've already talked to the Gods of Youth about your predicament, numerous times. As long as even one of the Four Bringers of the End are involved, they can't do anything. I'm sorry Skips, but my hands are tied as well."

"So that's it!" Skips yelled, punching at the ground. He looked at Death angrily and stood up. "I have to sit here and watch my friends be slaughtered by some lunatic because of a stupid bet you and he made a few centuries ago!"

Death rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air. "Alright, you got me! It was a stupid bet! We were both bored and didn't have much to do. I already told you: I wasn't expecting the little blaggard to take it seriously. It was fun watching you suffer the first three times, but after that, it just started to get a little creepy." He looked away from Skips and sighed. "It's not like you're the only one who Pessie and I stalk around every so often. We don't like immortal souls, plain and simple. I just don't like something that I can't reap for a long time, but Pestilence... he just doesn't like a mortal who won't die. He is the very definition of insane."

"I've met a few of those already," Skips said to him. "He's not as insane as they were. The only difference is that he's just more creative."

"If you say so, mate." Death was then knocked to the ground by Skips fist.

Gary couldn't help but chuckle at the childish reaction from Skips. While Death and Pestilence may have looked down on immortals and mortal beings in general, Gary found them to be an infinite source of fascination and fun. He loved helping them, and seeing their reactions to the far out and unusual. But to him though, this was just the usual that he saw everyday of his life.

"Do you think I like this!" Skips screamed at the skeleton. "Do you think I like watching everyone I love be killed one by one by the same god damn creature every century or so!"

Death already knew the answer to that, but allowed the yeti to continue his venting rage as he picked himself up from off the ground.

"I don't want to see this happen anymore, do you hear me!" Skips asked. "I don't want to see him hurt, okay?"

"Him?" both Gary and Death retorted.

Skips had said too much. His emotions had gotten the better of him, and he had given out a vital hint on to who Pestilence might be trying to target. He looked around himself with panic across his face, his eyes darting back and forth across the dimly lit park. The black ooze was nowhere to be seen, so he could only assume that Pestilence wasn't nearby.

"So it's a he this time?" Death asked with a smirk.

Skips pressed down on his teeth at that high cockney accent this current form of Death used. He wanted to punch him again, but knew that wasn't going to solve anything. Instead, he turned around and began to quickly make his way back to his shack.

"Leave me alone," he muttered just loudly enough for the both of them to hear. "I need to be alone while I figure some things out."

He skipped ahead a few feet and stopped. Maybe he was over reacting, he thought. He turned around to see if he could get anymore answers out of the two, but they were already gone. When he saw this, he clenched his fists angrily and continued his way back to his home. Nothing was gained that night but the fear of what was to come soon.

The night soon faded back into the blackness of nothing, and the senses world were once again numbed. Benson was suddenly able to hear himself think again, and his own sense of self awareness began to return to him. He felt tired and strangely groggy, as if awaking from a long overdue dream.

"What had just happened?" he wondered to himself. "Was I just everyone?"

His thoughts didn't made any sense, and he soon found himself returning to his own body. His eyes opened and he found himself being peeped upon by thousands of eyes, staring him down, judging him for what he just saw. They said nothing, only looking cruelly on the gumball machine, as if they knew something he didn't. But really, they only did it to keep him in check.

"Where am I?"

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move his body. In fact, he found that he couldn't really move any part of him. His consciousness may have returned to him, but the feeling in his body was still numb and heavy. But yet, he was able to move. It felt as though he were floating, but nailed to the ground as well. Benson tried to put some force into his movements, and suddenly realized he was spinning from it. The eyes zoomed by quickly, beginning to whisper little things into his ear in so many different voices: voices that Benson recognized.

The momentum eventually caused him to slow and stop, allowing him to try and figure his situation out. The voices continued though, as much as he would have liked to cover his head and cease the infernal cries, he just couldn't...

But he was able to. He just brought his hands up like so, and did it. But he didn't even feel himself doing such a thing. He released his head, and the whispers returned with force. Doing what he just did, he tried bring his hands across his face. Sure enough, there they were, a pale white and completely see through. He looked down and saw no legs, only a stump with a horrific little wave of white around his torso. The upper half of his body was still there though, the same ghostly see through. His mind went straight to High Five Ghost.

"I'm a ghost," he said out loud. But it came out a sort of jumbled mess, both in a light echo and distorted tone. Did Fives have this much trouble talking, he wondered. He tried to say something again, but it came out the same as last time.

He tried to scream as loud as he could, but it still came out a terrifying warped mess. He covered his mouth, or at least he saw that he did, and found the realization all too clear: this wasn't some sort of illusion concocted by Pestilence in an effort to play with Benson. He was really seeing this. His body was still there with Pestilence... but his soul was now trapped within the monsters subconscious.

Benson shook his head as the fright began to sweep over him. But as he tried to calm down and figure a way out of this mess, something slowly glided by him.

At first, he thought it was a torn white t-shirt, or something else strange that shouldn't be wondering around a monster's subconscious. But as Benson saw it closer, he noticed some of the features were reminiscent to someone he once knew, or perhaps... never really knew to begin with. A man that Maellard had hired, believing him to be someone else completely. The ghost's jaw laid slack and unhinged, as pieces of it's ghostly body floated strewn across the bizarre landscape. His glasses were cracked, his "skin" was deteriorating, and he was balding. Benson took a gulp as he watched the trashed ghost float by, only to watch Timothy Reynolds spirit stare directly at Benson as it went by, it's broken and dead eyes wide with fear.

"Someone," he tried to say. "Help me."

He screamed it out as loud as he could, but the whispers grew loud and drowned him out. They closed in on him, their voices beginning to laugh one after the other, until they were all over him like a cocoon. When they had the gumball machine's soul trapped in it's hold, their eyes opened to reveal rows of teeth, like a sharks.

And they began to feast.

**VI** – _Jacaszek_

* * *

><p><strong>Qvod cito acqviritvr cito perit<strong>

_...tsol ylkciuq si deriuqca ylkciuq si hcihw tahT..._

_Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	30. Floe

**Chapter Thirty  
><strong>**Floe**

Pestilence knelt to the ground and held his hand close to his mouth. He began to cough hazardously, spitting up some of his darkness from within Benson's body that he quickly absorbed back in. His gaze shifted toward Skips, being cared for the red robin. The monster smiled at him and shakily picked himself up. "He's not the first one to try and fight me this deep in my subconscious," he commented, "and I can guarantee you, he won't be the last. But he may end up being the longest." He snickered at Skips, relishing the new body in an attempt to anger the beast.

He looked all around him to find everyone with eyes on him. He wasn't used to this many people seeing him for who he truly was. Even Veronica was giving him a stink eye.

"What?" he asked everyone. "Why are you all staring at me with such ill content? I haven't done anything wrong yet. I mean, sure, I tortured the hell out of all of you – and enjoyed doing it – but you all are alive, aren't you? You all still have your bodies, don't you? You all get to leave here scott free without me doing anything to you in the long run. And why would I hunt you all down?" He began to spin around, looking at each person one by one. "You're just sad little whelps who are going to die anyways. Might as well just sit in the benches and watch you all slowly decay before my very eyes. It'll be a fantastic sight to watch feathers dry and fall away, or a big headed lolliman grow crusty and cynical, or even a sad little raccoon grow gray and senile. What fun it shall be!"

"Shut up!" Margaret screamed at him. "Just shut up! You talk too much!"

Pestilence jumped over to her in a flash, looking at her evilly with his new body. "Do you really think I care what you have to say at this point, you brat?" He flinched as he was spit in the face. The man quickly wiped it off and flung the saliva onto the ground. "You know, Death and I can peep into any dimension of the living, and for your information, this makes three universes I've seen you spit in the 'villain's' face," he said bringing quotations into the air. "So do me a favor and keep your beak shut."

She spit again.

He wiped it off and walked away. "Obviously, I'm not going to be getting anywhere with you," he quipped as he made his way toward Veronica and Death. "I'm finished here," he said to his brother in arms, "take them away and be quick about it. I would like to get on with Benson's life if you don't mind."

"Now wait just one second!" Pops screamed as he jogged over to the monster. "I've had just about enough of this!"

"So have I," Pestilence quickly replied. "Why do you think I'm trying to get rid of you? I don't think any of us want to be here anymore, so if you don't mind..."

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Pops yelled, stopping the monster's ramblings. "I'm tired of this whole game of you trying to hurt Skips and all of his friends. I am tired of you bossing all of us around like you own us! You do not! And you do not own Benson's body either. So you need to let my friend go and be off with you. I think that would be for the best... for everyone." The old man folded his arms and began to tap his foot impatiently for Pestilence to do something.

The thing in Benson's body simply shook his head and let a very brief laugh. "By the gods, you and your old man annoy the shit out of me. I don't think you have any idea."

"Don't talk about my father so lowly!" Pops countered. "He gave you a job and a place in his company, didn't he? He's a good man."

Pestilence looked on the naïve man with annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Death," he yelled over to the skeleton. "Can you just take them, and be done with it?"

"Not without Benson!" Don screamed as he too approached Pestilence. "He's our friend and you don't get the right to take his body and soul away from him."

The demon was beginning to get annoyed by the gaggle of friends. "You're right, I don't," he answered to the tall animal, "but I don't care. I consider it a consolation prize for losing out on the bet, so if you don't mind..."

"I do mind!" Don continued to say. "I mind that someone I care about deeply..."

Pestilence smiled. "Who didn't care about you the same way."

"...is being held captive by a monster who's been spending all this time trying to hurt and torture him to the point of exhaustion."

"Well to be fair," Pestilence continued, "I wanted to kill him outright just to see if that'll put Skips over the edge to end himself, but Veronica didn't like that plan. Thank her for me not killing him."

"Pessie!" the woman screamed. "They're right! This has gone on far enough! Just give them Benson back, and let's just go home!" She looked as though she was on the verge of tears. "I just want to go home and be with you. I don't care about your form, and I don't care about who's you take, but please... let's just go home and put this behind us."

"Not without something!" he argued with her. "You haven't been around as long as I have, and you haven't been waiting for this day! If I'm going to be the loser, I intend to take what rightfully belongs to me."

Margaret lurched over to the group, carrying Skips along. "But Benson doesn't belong to you!"

Pestilence's smile widened. "He does now, Margaret." He let out another laugh and enjoyed his "victory" as he did.

Death slapped the palm of his hand on his face and groaned. "This is going nowhere," he snapped, "so can we please just leave? I have places to be and people to reap, ya know."

Skips shook his head as he tried to gain his energy back. "Not until we have Benson back," he coughed. "I'm not leaving without him. I'm not leaving someone else I love to die with this thing."

"Sticks and stones, Skips," Pestilence giggled. "Always with the sticks and stones." He glared the yeti down and continued his frolic. "You can't have him back, and there's not a damn thing you or anyone else in this room can do about it."

Skips lunged from Margaret and picked Pestilence by the dome of his head. "Give him back, or...!"

"Or what?" the monster chuckled. "You'll beat the shit out of me? Do you really want to hurt someone you care for so much?" He grinned his pearly whites and watched as Skips slowly placed him back down on the ground. "That's what I thought."

The yeti backed away and tried to calm himself down, thinking of ways to try and rid Benson of the evil inside of him. His fists tightened as his mind did its best to plan.

"I hate to interrupt this lovely soap opera," Death sighed, "but I really don't feel like being here anymore, so if we could just get a move on?"

"Shut up, Death!" the yeti yelled. "We'll leave when we're good and ready."

The skeleton let some air escape his nostrils angrily; it was not the response he wanted to hear. "Well, I hope you're ready in ten minutes, cause that's as much time as I'm going to give you all. Then, I'm ripping you all out of here."

Pestilence continued to grin devilishly at the group. "I can handle them for another ten minutes," he said in Benson's voice. "I think that'll work out just fine for everyone."

The rest of the room looked down at him maliciously, as he folded his arms sat on the floor cross legged. Even Veronica didn't like what was happening, but she was just as helpless as the rest of them. Though they wanted to help Benson and find a way to finished this story soundly, they were completely stumped on how to do it.

"This should be a fun ten minutes," Pestilence snipped. His body relaxed and he began to mentally countdown his quote unquote victory. "I wonder where the time will take us?"

He sat there, his eyes closed and his mind cleared with the exception of his counting. Sometimes he would peek his eye open and grin at the whispers back and forth between the groups. He almost pitied them. He didn't have the heart to tell them that he could hear every little thing they had to say.

Skips looked down at the floor and noticed tiny eyes looking up with a cocky amusement. He looked back over at Pestilence, who after seeing the glance, changed his tune to a whistle, playfully trying to make himself seem innocent.

"Like you're fooling anyone," Skips spat at him. It was returned with some of the eyes below them whistling along as well. It sent shivers down the groups spine.

"If he hadn't of taken Benson, it would be a catchy tune," Don said, trying to lighten the mood. It obviously didn't work. The raccoon felt a deep wave of anxiety sweep over him, until he felt Pops put his hand on his shoulder. He looked at the old man, and looked at the worried grin on his face. It helped calm him down just enough.

"What are we supposed to do?" Margaret whispered to Skips. "We don't have a lot of time, and while I don't know Death as much as you..."

"He'll shoot us out of here in a heartbeat," the yeti added. "The less Death has to do with Pestilence, the happier he is." He looked behind Pestilence, and found the skeleton looking at the watch on his wrist and before staring at Skips and tapping at the protective glass of it.

"So what do we do then?" Margaret asked. "We have to get Benson out of that thing before he goes crazy, or worse..."

"He's happy, you know," Pestilence suddenly yelled out to the room. It caught everyone's attention. "He's found happiness in a place where he never could find it."

"Quit lying!" Skips snarled.

Pestilence frowned and scoffed at the yeti's outburst. "Who's lying? He's in my subconscious right now, playing stick hockey with his dead friend, Dave. Why would I lie about something like that." He turned his head over to Veronica and looked at her longingly. "He really is happy, gumdrop. You shouldn't worry. I promised you I wouldn't hurt him, and I haven't."

She wanted to believe him, but part of her was still skeptical of her husband's words. "You're not lying? I don't know if..."

"Veronica," he sighed, "I guarantee you that he is safe." He then offered his hand out to her and beckoned her forward. "Would you like to see?"

He was offering, but she was scared to accept it. Out of all the things she had seen of her husband to this point, this was the most manic. He refused to submit to anyone, and would stop at nothing to have his way. She had only really seen this in his business practices though, and never anything that came to personal vendettas. But what was he planning, she wondered. Could he really be telling the truth.

She reached out her hand to his, stopping momentarily to look out at the crowd. The group's glares were focused on her and what she would do. Some of them held out some sort of hope for redemption from the gumball machine, while others such as Margaret and Death knew better than that. But they didn't truly know her. Veronica knew she wasn't going to watch any of this without doing something about it.

She trusted the judgment of her husband and took his hand. The following scream was cut off as she was engulfed in her husband's darkness.

* * *

><p>Benson felt trapped where he was. At times the darkness would come down upon him, constricting his movements and tightening themselves to a point where it was painful, and other times he would be free to move and float about with miles and miles of space. He hoped to find an exit out of that horrid place, but nothing was there.<p>

"There's gotta be a way out of this place," he screamed out loud, hoping someone out there would hear him somehow. Unfortunately, not even Pestilence would answer his calls. The only thing around to keep Benson company was the almost completely dead soul of Timothy Reynolds. "I suppose you wouldn't know the way out of here?" he asked the poor floating remnant.

It only sniffled and gargled something barely audible and continued to weakly float by.

"Of course not," Benson muttered.

He folded his arms and looked out into the distant darkness and saw a small twinkle, shimmering for him to come hither. He looked back over at Timothy's soul, and then back at the faint light. He grabbed the man and began to slowly swim over to it. "Let's see what this one is, shall we? Probably another trick of Pestilence's to try and throw me off or something."

Timothy gurgled again under the gumball machine's grasp as the two made slow progress over to the light.

It must have taken them hours to get over there, or it could have been seconds. Time seemed to flow differently then in physical world above them.

"What do you think he's gonna pull on me?" Benson asked the spirit. "Think he's going to temp me with something only to pull back at the last second? Or do you think he's gonna try and torture me again? Can't wait to find out?" His sarcasm was painful. Shame there wasn't anyone around to hear it, save for the rotting host that Pestilence once used.

As they began to tread closer, the air felt like it was beginning to clear up. It didn't have a rank rotting odor like it did when he had first come into that world, and it was almost pleasant. It smelled faintly of the wind carrying dry leaves on a cool spring morning. Benson suddenly felt at home as the atmosphere changed. Even the darkened walls around his prison began to ripple and tear silently.

"Another door," Benson groaned as they finally reached the twinkle. The brightness came from the doorknob, and absolutely beckoned the gumball machine to open it. "Why not? I've seen everything else today. Why not one more thing to complain about to Ploddevize when and if I eventually get out of here?" He grabbed the knob and turned it, stepping into the room beyond it.

"You have got to be kidding me," he murmured.

The park house.

Nothing was out of place, and nothing had changed. The place was still a bit of a mess thanks to the slackers, the TV was still on with static blaring, and no one was up even though it was well past 8am. But how did he know it was already past 8am? Something didn't seem right.

"Of course something doesn't seem right," he told himself as he grabbed his head. "It's because he's trying to play with your emotions again. Don't let him get to you."

"Quite the contrary," said a voice from the kitchen, "it's more like giving you a comfortable home."

Benson looked into the kitchen and found Pestilence, still in Timothy's skin, looking on from the table with a drink in his hand. Timothy's soul squirmed and tried to wriggle free out of Benson's grasp, rage filling it's insides.

"Whoops! I completely forgot about you," he said, pointing to the soul underneath Benson's arm. "I could have sworn I had already passed your soul over to Death. Let's just take care of that real quick like." He waved his hand, and Timothy's soul inflated like a balloon and popped in a matter of seconds. A twinge of light appeared in it's place and disappeared instantly.

"What did you do?" Benson asked, fearful for the man's soul.

"Relax, it's alright," Pestilence answered. "By now he should be with Death's collection of souls. He's probably already in the luxury of paradise right about now. Like you are!"

Benson looked at him angrily and snarled. "What paradise? This place? I doubt it's anything like paradise!" He looked around, checking for anything out of place. "What's gonna happen? Is the floor gonna cave and I fall into the hole in the basement, or are Mordecai and Rigby gonna appear and torture me for all eternity? What's the catch?"

The man smiled and took a sip of his drink. "No catch. This place is exactly what you want it to be. It's my gift to you for letting me use your body. You can create anything you want here, and have anything you want, and it's so real that your mind tricks you into believing it is. Well... I trick you into believing it, but ignorance of the mind certainly is bliss." He took another sip and gauged the expression on Benson's face.

"I don't want it," the gumball machine said back to him. "I want to go back to the real world."

"Well we can't always get what we want, now can we?"

Benson twitched his eye and sprinted head first at the monster. He raised his fist and brought it down, only to bunch at thin air, tripping over the chair and onto the floor.

"What are you doing Benson?" Mordecai asked from across the table.

"Yeah, are you going mental or something?" Rigby added to the conversation.

Benson picked himself up and looked around the room. Mordecai and Rigby were at the table, enjoying their morning feast of cereal as the sun shined in through the windows on another perfect day at the park.

Benson rubbed at the pain pulsing from his head, and tried to collect his barrings. "I'm not sure," he said, truly believing it. "I thought I saw someone here, and I got really angry or something, and now..." He stopped and thought about it for a second. "NO! No no no! This isn't right!"

"But it is," Pestilence whispered in his ear. "It's perfect... it's paradise... it's what you want..."

"Get out of my head!" he screamed, ignoring Mordecai and Rigby's sudden concern for the gumball machine.

"Dude, are you alright?" the blue jay asked, patting him on the back.

Benson pushed the two men away and backed up against the wall. "Back off! You two aren't the real ones! You're just copies he made to try and trick me!"

"Think about, Benson," Pestilence went on. "You can create your own perfect world here, where nothing will get to you, and nothing will hurt you! You can have everything your little heart desires. Isn't that what you want?"

"NO!" the machine said, covering his ears.

"But I thought it was exactly what you wanted... I mean, with the way things have been going for you, you deserve a nice break here and there. I'll bet you and Skips could even live happily ever after here if you wanted it to happen."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Benson continued to scream.

Something grabbed at his hand, causing him to instinctively struggle against it. When he looked up, he saw Skips looking down with caring and loving eyes. The scene had changed... they were no longer in the park house, but now situated in Benson's apartment.

"I won't let him get you," Skips said so warmly, that Benson felt like he could melt right then and there.

His fingers twitched at the yeti's touch, sending pleasurable little ripples through the Benson's body. He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt this way, but quivered in submission as Skips kissed him and laid him onto the ground. He was putty to the beast, feeling helpless in his battle to fight back against Pestilence.

"You're not here," Benson whispered. "Quit doing this." But his body and mind were submitting over to the monster's mind control. He just wanting to lay back and have his body used by the yeti. To feel pleasure all over him and not feel anything else for anything or anyone. He wanted it. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Part of him just wanted to do nothing and stay like that until it was his time to go home... "Stop..."

He wiggled as the shockwaves of lust took over him, filling him to the brim of his lover's shame, and sending tingles of pain coursing through his chasis. "Please stop," he begged, unsure of why he was even asking such a thing. But it was too much... this was too much... and this wasn't Skips. And that wave of humiliation and shame was what gave him the drive to ask again to, "STOOOOOOOOOOOOP!"

Pestilence gritted his teeth and enclosed his hands onto Benson's dome, slamming it down onto the floor, cracking it's backside. "You stupid little worthless piece of outdated shit!" he yelled. "Believe me when I say I want to stop. Believe me when I say that if I had my way, I would have killed you and pissed on the corpse long ago." He brought it back up, only to bring his head down again. "But the love of my life still harbors a few feelings for you, and I love her enough to grant her this request. The only reason you're still alive is because of her, and you should be grateful for that."

He let go of him and stood from his place. "I could have left you in that dark pit, bored for the next couple of decades like I do with everyone else, but you're a special case as it turns out. I'm giving you a spot in my subconscious all to yourself, so you better enjoy it, because I don't want to hear you complaining." The world around Benson went dark and the eyes all opened and looked down at him with anger. "Do I make myself clear?"

Pestilence didn't wait for an answer. He just shifted away and disappeared, as did the eyes. This left Benson, once again for the thousandth time, alone in the darkness.

Benson sat up and felt at the back of his head. The cracks were gone, almost as if the entire exchanged didn't happen. When he knew he was in no physical pain, he simply sat there and thought. He wasn't sure how to react or even what to say. One question did persist on his mind, and it was one that he had been wanting to ask since this whole spiral of events began.

"Why," he softly asked into the void. "Why are you doing any of this? What's so special about Skips that you have to torture him all his life? Why is it that you have to hunt down and kill every single person he's ever cared about in his life!"

The darkness grew still and silent. In the waste of it, Benson could hear slow footsteps coming close to him, growing louder with each step taken. But just like that, they stopped and began to walk away until it was gone. This confused the gumball machine, forcing him to curiously wonder what it even meant.

"Uh... what was that all about?" Benson asked awkwardly.

"I wanted to show you something," Pestilence echoed in the distance. "But I changed my mind. Needless to say, I have reasons for doing all of these things to Skips, or even anyone for that matter." He paused for a moment, causing a cool wind to go through the gumball machine. It felt good, almost calming. But Benson didn't know if that was true, or if Pestilence had only made it seem that way. It continued: "I have my reasons for kidnapping your friends, or spreading sickness and malice all over the world. I have my reasons for killing those who get in my way, and striking some with insanity to get what I want. I have legitimate reasons for everything, Benson."

His voice was egotistical; a hint of gloating and evil persisted in that voice of his. Benson could feel himself go red simply for listening. "Then what is your reason?" he asked the damnable creature. "Why is it that you have to do this to my friends!"

Pestilence paused again, a short groan sounding all around the machine. But it was not out of agitation or annoyance, but more so out of curiosity.

"What does it matter?" he asked Benson. "Your 'thirst for knowledge,' as you mortals put it, will not get you out of here, now will it?"

Benson shook his head and stared deeply into the darkness. "No, I guess it won't. But it'll put my mind at ease a little bit."

The void chuckled. "I suppose if you have to know," he continued, "it's because I just refuse to lose."

"Refuse to lose?" Benson repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A light came down from above: a stage light shining down onto two figures with their backs turned to Benson. He didn't recognize either of them, but was able to piece together their identities out of instinct. The strange skeletal figure with the horse head skull and the scythe was obviously death. He wore a white hat, farm aid attire, and a brown shoulder pouch that dangled on his side. The other one was what seemed to be the rotting corpse of bird like creature, still alive. But when black sludge dribbled out of its pores, it was obvious as to who it was.

"Once upon a time," the voice of Pestilence rung out, "the world ended for a second time."

The light's of the stage went up in front of Benson, showing a world of destruction and slaughter. Buildings were falling over, fields were on fire, people were dying, the sky was dark with haze and smog. As much of a visceral shock it was to the man, it didn't surprise him as much as it should have. What scared him was what he saw in the corner of his eye: a terrified Bonnibel Bubblegum, running for her life away from a burning kingdom, her stunningly elegant pink clothes in ruin and tatters. Benson stood up and wanted to go to her, but the scene blacked out before he could even take a step.

"And then," the voice continued, "the world was reborn again."

Benson watched as the lights come up again, revealing a more situated world this time. Small huts and towns had been built. The distance was ripe with nature and green. Some humans and anthropomorphs ran around, coexisting perfectly. And then there, coming out of a small little shack, a pale white yeti, no more than a man in his early twenties, stepped out and began his day's chores.

"We didn't take much care to him at the time," Pestilence said. "We just watched the world rebuild itself slowly, and the mortals return and overpopulate as they always do. In truth, we didn't care... in The Great War of Ooo, we lost Conquest and Strife; their deaths signified the end of the great conflict. Death and I were in mourning, giving these sad little insects a great period of peace." The images of Death and Pestilence looking over the world slowly faded away and disappeared.

"But in time," it continued, "the mortals became cunning, and we could no longer ignore them." A new person appeared, this time one that Benson recognized. Death smiled happily over the world, wielding his scythe. It was peculiar seeing the skeletal man with both arms at equal girth. Benson just assumed he pumped them up later in his eternal life.

"Death needed a new form... one that would strike fear into the mortals of the new world. And for a time it worked." He stopped to laugh for a moment. "Sadly, as Death became more and more of a social butterfly, his effectiveness to scare the mortals diminished. Truly sad..."

The sun and moon flew by, and the world seemed like it was moving on fast forward. Seasons passed, children were born, and the elderly died. Then it stopped, one night, with a full moon over head, looking down on the very same village. An eerie glow sent a quake through the town waking everyone up out of bed to see what was happening.

"And on that day, Skips became immortal." He said it with such disdain you could almost feel the anger coursing through the wind. "At first we paid him no mind... but not too soon after..."

Pestilence appeared next to Death, looking down at the immortal creature from above.

"They're popping up everywhere, ya know," Death said with a grin.

"I know," Pestilence answered, spite filling his voice. "There shouldn't be this many mortals cheating death, don't you think?"

"Makes my life easier," the spirit of Death muttered. "But you are right. Does piss me off a good deal." All he could do though was shrug. "It's not like I can do anything about it. I can only claim mortal souls. The God's of Youth protect all the immortals. Who knows... maybe they'll just get bored and kill themselves."

A thought suddenly sparked in the Pestilence's mind. "Wanna wager on that?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well why not?" he continued. "It's not like you and I are going anywhere anytime soon. And it would make life a little more interesting."

"What do you suggest, mate?" the skeleton asked, intrigued by his brother.

Pestilence smiled cruelly, looking down at Skips. "How about I make that one's life a living hell, and see if he offs himself. If he does, I win. But if he doesn't, you win."

"Uh-huh," Death nodded. "And how long do you suggest we do this?"

The dark being did what looked like a shrug and answered: "Until we get bored, I guess. It should be a little fun to see what he'll do though. And it'll strike fear into all those around him... maybe the town will think he's cursed and turn him into a pariah."

"And what are we wagering, if I may ask?" Death asked, trying to get to the point.

Pestilence said something, but it was muffled as the lights blacked out again. Benson looked forward, expecting something else to happen, but it never came. He waited for at least a minute. Nothing was shown afterwards.

"That's it?" he yelled. "That's all!"

"That's all..." Pestilence confirmed.

"That's why you're hurting Skips? Just because you're bored and didn't want to lose!"

"Pretty much," it answered. "I have to admit, I'm a terrible loser. The worst you'll probably ever meet. But I must admit, it never gets old torturing the poor yeti over and over. There's just something about watching him breakdown at the loss of each and every loved one, and still moving forward that is frightfully entertaining... surprisingly inspirational too."

Benson took a step back. It had to have been the worst excuse he had heard for someone wanting to freely hurt another person. "You're sick..."

"No, I'm sickness," Pestilence laughed. "And you... you're just another little insect. No wait... you're lower than that. You're a germ. No one can see you, and you can't do jack shit against me." His laugh persisted and slowly began to fade away.

"What is wrong with you?" Benson asked, terrified of the creature.

"Nothing," it replied. "This was just the way I've always been." His voice faded, and it left Benson with his old friend, the darkness.

Benson clenched his fists out of anger, gritted his teeth and turned a violent shade of purple. His screams were let loose all around him, kicking the ground, jumping up and down like a maniac, and yelling as many profanities at the monster as he could. He let his voice soar until it became sore and hoarse, and jumped about until his body was tired and spent. He fell back, and hit an invisible wall, sliding down onto the floor as he began to slowly catch his breath.

"Is this it?" he asked himself. "Am I just gonna be stuck here until he's tired of using me? Am I just supposed to live the rest of my life in some stupid ghost world that he wants me to make for myself?" He felt like having a temper tantrum but know that wouldn't solve any problems. But he didn't want to give up either. He had come too far for that to happen now. What he wanted to do was... actually, he didn't know what he wanted to do. His mind was too shaken to even think of his first step towards escape. He thought about Skips for a moment and smiled. He looked up in front of him and saw his outline forming. He washed the thoughts away, and watched the image too disappear.

"What am I supposed to do?" he wondered. "I don't want to be trapped here by myself forever. But I don't want to talk to people I know who aren't really there." It scared him how confused and conflicted he was. His mind wandered someplace in the far recesses of his memory and tried to just stay away from the present.

"What about me?" asked a forming figure in front of him. "Is it alright if we talk for a little bit, master?"

Benson looked up and felt something stab at his heart. There he was, standing there with the same body type as his own, only orange instead of red. His nose was different as well, and he had a small tuft of blonde hair sticking out of his head. His smile was friendly and warm. Dave hadn't changed a bit since the last time Benson had thought about him.

Benson tried his best to force him away, but his thoughts began to submit to Pestilence's control over him, forcing him to believe that the specter in front of him was the real deal.

"Yeah," Benson said with a nostalgic smile, "we can talk."

"Even though I'm not technically here, right?" Dave asked with a sort of shy frown.

It threw Benson for a loop. His mind suddenly cleared of the control and found himself thinking coherently again. This one didn't seem like the other illusions. It was self aware of it's false imagery, but still acted as though Benson had always known Dave.

He took a gulp and tried to understand the illusion in front of him. "So you already know..."

"I'm just a figment of your imagination," Dave interrupted. "Pestilence created me to give you company I guess. Maybe he wanted you to have some clarity or something... I don't know."

"Neither do I," Benson answered with a forming grin, "but if there's anything Pestilence doesn't like to give anyone, it's a sense of clarity." The two of them shared a second of laughter, before Benson opened up and patted the area next where he sat. Dave smiled down and sat where he was directed, acting subservient to his master.

It was strange though. Benson knew this creature wasn't the real Dave, and was probably just as much Pestilence as it was a piece of Benson's memories. But still, it felt nice being this close to Dave again, even if he wasn't real. He thought that possibly it could be Pestilence's mind control again, trying to convince him of the reality with him now, but Benson didn't care. He needed to calm down, and it wasn't like it was the first time he had talked to a Dave that wasn't there before.

"So what are you up to, Dave?" Benson asked to break the ice.

The orange machine smiled at him and answered, "being dead. What about you?"

Benson looked around the darkness and responded with the opposite. "Wishing I was dead. I think right now, I could really use a good long rest, and being dead kind of sounds like a good idea."

"No, you shouldn't do that master!" Dave quickly complained. "I don't want you to die just yet! You got so much more you have going for yourself!"

"That's what I thought you would probably say," Benson sighed. "And then we'd get too close to one another and then..." He ended the statement with some sad laughter and shrugged at his old friend.

Dave tried to return his laugh, but could not. Instead he just bobbed his head side to side playfully, and eventually fell against Benson. "We had a lot of fun when we did that stuff though. You were such a screamer."

"And you were a whiner," the red machine countered. He nudged the other machine with his head and tried his best to keep a happy expression on his face. "But it was nice though, even if it only lasted for a little while."

Dave looked at him and blushed. "We could always do something like that right now. You still remember what it felt like, so maybe we can make it like old times."

"Wouldn't be the same," Benson was quick to answer.

"Why not?"

"Because you're not really right here," he replied. "You're not the real Dave, and you never will be. You're just some silly little figment that Pestilence created to try and play tricks on me. Besides, I think I may be too old for that kind of stuff." He lied through his teeth, and this "Dave" knew it. Especially since it wasn't too long ago that he and Skips fooled around for their own way of forgetting the world. He wasn't going to admit it to someone like this Dave though.

He shook his head and banged it against the invisible wall behind him. "I'm not in the mood anyways. I have too much going through my head anyways."

Dave felt his friend's body tense up and nuzzled against him closer, wrapping his arm around his body and pulling him into a cuddle. "You're worried about your friends outside, aren't you?"

"You know it," Benson said. It was nice to be held again by Dave, he thought. "But I didn't need to tell you that, did I?"

"No..."

"You already know everything, don't you?"

"Yes..."

"Then what do I do?"

The younger machine shrugged and tightened his grip on the eldest. "How about stick hockey?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah!" Dave exclaimed. "It'll help pass the time and clear your head out a little bit. I know it's not appropriate or anything, but it's just a suggestion until you're ready to talk about all this stuff to someone."

Benson riled a bit, suddenly feeling less than comfortable in his friend's grip. But still, his mind was beginning to have trouble understanding what was happening again, and taking Dave's appearance as fact. But this wasn't of Pestilence's doing though. No, this was from himself. He needed the escape, just for the moment to try and collect his faculties. Then, when he had everything planned out, he would resume trying to find a solution to his woes.

"Okay," he answered.

"Okay," Dave repeated. He released Benson from his grip and helped him to stand up. He pointed toward a light in the distance, and the two began to walk toward it.

As they grew closer to it, something shivered all along Benson's spine. It was like a boost of energy, and a swift wave of emotions that put a smile on his face. A low rumble was coming out from the door, banging and chanting something rhythmically. It caused his curiosity to grow. He gripped onto his friend's hand tighter and they both began to run into a sprint toward the light. Soft music was playing in the background, relaxing him further. It wasn't just any type of music though. It was songs and instrumentals he had composed back in college. It was being played through a loud speaker on the other side of the lighted passage. The chants were screaming out for Benson and Dave now, forcing them to hurry their pace. And then, as they entered the realm on the other side, Benson suddenly felt young and freshly manufactured again.

The crowds in the bleachers cheered the two on as the score board lit up with their names and a timer. Dave and Benson positioned themselves at two separate tables and got ready. A siren went off, and the clock began to count down. A wave of happiness surrounded Benson.

The games had begun.

**Floe –** _Philip Glass_

* * *

><p><strong>Minus solum, quam cum solus esset.<br>**_...enola nehw naht enola ssel reveN..._

_Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	31. Wretched Automatons

**DI**

**AM**

**ON**

**DS**

**Final Chapter**

**The Wretched Automatons**

**of the Winter Winds**

The buzzer rang loud as Benson scored the winning goal of his game. He brought his arms high into the air, showing off to the stadium crowd his boastful victory. Dave came up from behind him – winning his own match – and wrapped his arms around his friend's neck. They both jumped up and down as the crowd riled their names and confetti poured from the ceiling high above them. The numerous red headed men in green bard's uniforms began to chant some sort of song that was barely comprehensible over the excitement. The joy echoed everywhere as Benson and Dave laughed, and eagerly awaited the gold that was slowly coming their way.

It shined, shimmering brilliantly from the light that came down from the stadium ceiling. It was so big too! Bigger than they thought it could have possibly been. The two men both took a side of the gargantuan trophy and held it up for the crowd to see. The place fell into chaos of excitement and frenzy as the crowd erupted from stands and ran over to the pair. They lifted them up high above them with their prize, and continued to chant their names and scream aloud with congratulatory praise and whimsy.

Benson smiled from ear to ear, bolstering energized eyes, no longer tired or wiped from a day at the park. His mind was screaming along with the crowd, congratulating him on a job well done. Of course, he knew this wasn't real, but ignorance certainly was bliss. And it was just the kind of relaxation he needed. He wondered how much time had passed while he was playing with his friend, but quickly forgot of that worry as he was dropped on the ground, shaking hands and getting pats on the back.

He looked all around himself, spotting Dave not too far from him. He maneuvered around the stampede of praise and met back up with his friend, embracing him as they jumped up and down again. Dave grabbed his head, and rubbed his nose against his own in a close friendly manner before gripping harder on his hug. It caught Benson by surprise, but he loved it regardless.

This was exactly how it was supposed to end. He and Dave were meant to get the gold and all the praise they could handle. His friend was not supposed to be killed, forcing Benson into a spiraling depression for years. Everything was meant to come out roses, and not a steaming pile of animal shit that the gumball machine had grown used to over the years. This is what he wanted to see. He knew the false reality of it, but who cared? He got to experience how that story was meant to play out.

He hugged Dave back as hard as he could. As he looked at the crowd around them from his embrace, he saw someone he recognized, shied away in the corner, clapping her hands. Benson looked over at her with surprise, mostly with himself. Would his mind have actually created her? Did he wanted to see the "what-if" scenario of her leaving?

Benson released his grasp on Dave, but kept one hand on him, clasping his fingers down between Dave's. He dragged the machine along to her, curiosity coming to him stead fast.

"Well well," Veronica smirked, as Benson made his way to her. "I thought my husband was blowing smoke at first, but here you are, happy as a kite." She laughed briefly, showing off her teeth before shielding them again. "I guess you really are happy, aren't you?"

"We sure are!" Dave replied, laughing all the while as he did. "Aren't we, master?"

Benson didn't want to acknowledge him suddenly. Veronica's appearance in "his world" was just a painful reminder of the past he knew was real and had to deal with at one point in his life. To add insult to injury, he knew she was the real deal. She referenced her husband, the last person that Benson wanted to talk about.

"What are you doing here, Veronica?" he snapped. His mood suddenly returning to his usual bit of crabbiness.

"Snippy snippy," she answered him. "I just wanted to come down here to check up on you. Pessie said you were actually happy in here. I didn't think he was telling the truth, but here you are: A crowd chanting your name, you got a playmate, and you've completely forgotten about everyone you cared for up above."

"Don't you dare!" Benson yelled.

The crowds around him suddenly grew quiet and cold. In the blink of an eye, they were gone, leaving an empty stadium that was in desperate need of cleaning from the tournament. One of the bulbs high above burst. The remnants of it toppled behind Veronica.

"I don't want to hear it from you right now," Benson continued. "I needed a break, okay? I know what's real and what's not, and I know that I need to go back up above and get the hell out of here. You don't need to remind me by being passive aggressive or any of that crap, you got it?"

She brought her hands up in defense and took a step back, stopping mid movement before she could accidentally step on the glass. "Okay, I get it. You don't need to go postal on me." She waited for him to calm down. Dave grabbed his shoulder and slowly rubbed it. It seemed to do the trick. "Who's this?" Veronica asked.

"I'm Dave!" the orange machine answered. "I was master's student in the art of stick hockey! He's my best friend too!"

His smile suggested much more than that as far as Veronica could tell. However, now was not the time to pry into this imaginary creature's personality. Her attention remained solely focused on Benson. "So you were relaxing. I guess that's okay. No wait, it's not." Her mood picked up again in a more malicious tone than before. "Your friends are up there trying to find a way to get you out, and you're not helping them by playing imagination stick hockey with a former fuck buddy student. Although, I would like to know the story behind that in the future."

Benson shook his head and rolled his eyes at her. "Look, it's hard for me to be down here, alright? Your husband does something to my brain, and makes me think what I'm doing is really happening. I know it's fake, okay? It's just hard to break myself out of it."

"I can believe that," Veronica replied. "Pessie always did have a way with screwing with a person's brain. Yours is no exception." She looked around the stadium at the all the banners, and Benson's name everywhere, and the now trashed trophy on the ground and let out a gasping laugh. "You certainly do have a high opinion of yourself to go to this length though."

"Veronica!" Benson snapped again, causing her to jump slightly. "You got to see me here, and you got to see me happy. Does that make you happy?" She opened her mouth to answer but was quickly cut off by Benson with a swift: "Good. Now that this is all done, and you've reminded me of reality and of the crappy past I once had, could you kindly tell you husband to let me out?"

Outside of the subconscious, Pestilence listened intently, hearing Benson's plea to Veronica. "Fat chance," he laughed aloud. Both the group outside and inside heard him. "There is no way in hell I'm letting you out of me." He smirked evilly at Skips, who knew exactly what was going on.

Benson, inside, gritted his teeth and looked up at the ceiling, expecting the voice to be coming from there for some reason. "I'm sick of your little games, Pestilence! Let me out!"

"Why?" it asked back. "You seemed perfectly content just a few minutes ago. In fact, I'd say you were absolutely ecstatic. But I guess some of that probably has to do with me though." He laughed and continued to stare the yeti down.

"I don't want to be here!" the gumball machine argued.

"Too bad!" Pestilence answered. "It's not that horrific in there, ya know. Gumdrop, you've seen how happy he was too. I told you I wasn't going to hurt him. In fact, I think I've actually given him the best treatment I've ever given to my victims."

Skips could feel his own body shake with anger, and readied himself to rush the creature in his love's body, but was stopped by Margaret and Don, knowing that if he went crazy, he wouldn't be able to control himself. His face was beginning to grow red with rage and frustration. He still didn't know what to do, and Death was growing impatient. How many minutes had gone by?

Pestilence egged on the yeti, beckoning him to come and end his life and the body of the person he loved. When Skips calmed down and remained solid, the creature laughed and returned to his conversation with Benson. "Now be a good little boy and just have fun until I feel your body isn't useful to me anymore." His voice faded into nothingness right after that.

Benson grunted, picked up a styrofoam cup and threw it into the air, where it plummeted back down and splattered all over the floor. It's contents were black, and a thousand tiny eyes opened as it hit the floor. Veronica stepped away from it, more surprised from it than frightened. Benson stepped backed, pulling Dave with him. He looked over at Dave, and found his friend suddenly covered in ooze, completely faceless and slowly rusting and degrading in front of him.

Benson stumbled back from the site and watched his friend eventually melt into a puddle of black and orange rippled sludge, that was accompanied by a single high pitched, though very light laugh. Veronica groaned at the pile with a disgusting curve of her lips. "That's not funny, Pestilence," she yelled at her husband.

The surroundings went black again, and left her and Benson alone together.

"I'm sorry about that, gumdrop," Pestilence apologized honestly. "I didn't mean for you to be upset. Here, let me take you out of there real quick so we can leave Benson alone to his fantasy."

"No," she replied, "I'm gonna stay here for another minute. Then I'll come back out."

Pestilence sighed up above. "If you must. But only for another minute or two. Death is getting restless out here and is ready to go home."

"Alright, sweetie," she answered with a grimace. His voice faded again. She knew he wasn't truly gone, and was probably still eavesdropping on them, but at least he'd hopefully be nice enough to stay out of their conversation. "Now, let's get back to business, shall we?"

"We don't have any business. Not with you anyways," Benson contended as he stood up.

"You're right," she agreed, "you don't have business with me. You have business with being a self hating machine who doesn't know what he wants, and all the rest of that bull shit I told you about back in the Coffee Shop. Did you even listen to anything I said?"

Benson stood his ground and looked down upon her with a confident glare. "You caught me, alright? I was having fun with my dead friend, not only because your husband was trying to manipulate me, but also because I just wanted to be with Dave one more time. But don't confuse that with running away, because I'm not doing that anymore."

A spotlight came down, illuminating an area beside them. Veronica watched as strange still life images began to appear.

Benson continued: "After I left the shop, I found Ploddevize and the nurse. I found out what happened to Don – thank you for that, by the way – where we learned who Pestilence really was, and came up with a plan to save our friends! Does that sound like running away to you?"

"No," Veronica said as she watched the still images of all the events since then unfold at light speed. "No it doesn't."

"And then there's the people I care about," he went on. "I came all this way to try and get Pops and Don back, all the while trying to salvage my crumbling friendship with Skips! Not only that, but I find out you and your husband took Margaret too!"

"That wasn't planned," she countered, watching the image of the red robin taken play in front of her. "I told him I didn't want any innocent bystanders hurt."

"But they were!" Benson yelled at her, causing her insides to coil into a knot of guilt. "You're just as much to blame as he is!"

"Well, they're getting out as soon as this is all over, okay?" she said to him. "Skips and Death made a deal to keep them safe from Pessie, so you don't have to worry about any of that, okay?"

"And then there's Skips!" he screamed. Images of the yeti from the past and present, both from Benson's and Pestilence's mind suddenly appeared. Pictures of him with children and people he had never seen before, as well as images of soft moments the two had experienced. He wanted to destroy her with his voice and hold her and her husband personally responsible for everything that happened between him and Skips. But once again, that small bit of sincerity in his head rang true and stopped him from erupting any further.

"What about you and Skips?" Veronica asked, her voice suddenly heavy and anxious.

Benson expected himself to cry or yell, or even shut down completely, but instead, he smiled. He smiled as the romantic thoughts fell all over him. "I need him."

It was an answer that took the woman completely by surprise.

"I need him, Veronica." he repeated. His face blushed slightly from even saying something like that. "I can't explain it, okay? I wanna hate him for everything he kept from us... but I can't, for some reason. He's not a bad person or anything. He's always been kind and sweet to me, if not a little strict with how I do things. He's quick to correct me when I do something wrong, and he's always the first to worry about me when I can't handle the world. It's unhealthy, but I guess I just can't see my life without him being around." Benson grew silent for a moment as he looked at the still image to their side.

Veronica's eyes were wide as she saw the still pose of them in a kiss. Their romance shined warmly, even as a memory, to her. For a split second, she felt almost jealous of the yeti and what he and Benson had.

"I tried so hard to push him away after all this happened," Benson continued. "But I can't do it. I just can't 'live' anymore without him somewhere in my life. Even if that means all we can be is friends. It sounds kind of creepy I know... but I just... need him. I guess that sounds kind of pathetic doesn't it?"

"You're sure?" she quickly said. Her eyes were stern and suddenly serious. "You're sure that you absolutely need him?"

"I do."

"How!" she exclaimed. "How do you know this?" She had become strangely shocked by this sudden turn of events.

Benson widened his grin and looked at her, feeling suddenly sentimental. Was he crying? He wasn't sure. His face felt cold and clammy, more so then usual, and his eyes hurt. But whatever it was, he could feel it.

"How do you know, Benson?" she asked again.

He shrugged and looked at the still image. "Because he needed me first." He looked back at her, her expression almost disappointed. "And when I got close to him, I realized I needed him too."

The image switched to that night where he and Skips looked over the city by Don's house, where he was purified after his attack at the hospital. The sky was beautiful and it complimented the two of them fondly. All the things in Benson's past that had to do with Skips suddenly began to fit together perfectly, and the puzzle was at last complete. He got all the answers he needed, and a strange weight felt lifted off his chest. It was sudden, and caused him to laugh out loud.

Veronica looked at the picture and then Benson. The realization of her former love hit her as well, and she smiled too, feeling strangely calm and relieved. He did it. He figured it out finally. She wished to say she was crying for his sake and happiness, but she sadly could not. The tears that fell from her eyes were that of guilt and regret. Benson was right, she had also been a cause of all the things that had happened to him. It wasn't fair to him. For the first time since their breakup, she felt as though she was a truly horrible person.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I'm sorry for everything."

Benson wiped his eyes, and was happy to see he hadn't begun crying. "It's alright. I know that you weren't the mastermind behind all of this. I know that you wanted to protect me, and you kind of did warn me back at the Coffee Shop about Skips. Don't kick yourself too much about it."

"Yes, but still..." she whimpered. She wished to say more, but Benson's arms around her silenced her speech. He squeezed her tight, saying something reassuring into her ear, causing her to laugh and cry further. Of course, he had more to say though.

"But you know," he added, "you are still kind of a bitch."

She sobbed and laughed at the same time. "I know I am. And you can tell Margaret I admit it."

The two remained in an embrace for who knows how long. Their bridge was mended, and at long last, the two were able to cross to the other side without any regrets. Even Pestilence above was shocked by the strange connection the two had. Was it jealousy he felt? Or perhaps, it was emotions he sweared he would never admit to having for mortals who weren't Veronica. Regardless, it changed nothing.

"That's an awfully sweet display," he said, surprisingly with no animosity, "but you're still stuck in there until I say so."

Veronica didn't want to hear that. Hearing about how her ex finally got his act together, she felt a renewed interest in saving him in order to grant him the true happiness he deserved. She let loose a string of curses and complaints that shot all through the darkened world around them, all the while refusing to let go of Benson.

Benson on the other hand, looked at the still image of him and Skips on that starry night. Something was processing in his mind. A new puzzle had come into his mind, this one more formed of theories and ideas. But the pieces fit together all too well and so fast, that it gave him confidence by the speed for which it was completed.

He let go of Veronica, giving her a quick peck on cheek as he ran out into the middle of the darkness. She ceased her infernal screaming and watched him run off into the distance. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I can make anything here, right Pestilence?" he asked the darkness.

"Anything you want," Pestilence replied, feeling as though Benson had finally decided to give up.

The gumball machine smiled, and what seemed like a home movie began to play all around them on multiple screens. They showed off Skips, dancing and flailing a strange rain stick in his hands. He chanted something and the film began to cut out, before it repeated again on a loop.

Pestilence observed from outside, unaware of what Benson was planning. "What are you up to, in there?"

The thought of a rain stick came into Benson's mind, and one appeared in front of him, which he took. Then, he started...

The steps were still solid in his mind. He had watched Skips perform it so many times, that the very steps and chants had become cemented in his head. Benson mimicked the movements and danced, doing his best not to fumble in his footwork. He shook the stick, listening to the sounds of the stones inside shake and jangle about inside. They soothed his nerves, as well as Veronica's.

She watched him perform this awfully bizarre dance, trying to understand what it was he was doing. But then, she remembered she had seen it before, and knew exactly what Benson was planning. A part of her wanted to warn her husband, but something else in her forced a devilish grin on her face, and a deep voice to echo in her mind: "Let him suffer just this once. It'll do him some good."

Benson continued the dance, starting over when making a misstep. There was no other way though. He needed to complete it perfectly before Pestilence caught on to his actions. He twirled the stick and body. He began to chant the words under his breath, just at the right volume that Skips had always done it.

Something was starting. The world around Benson began to bubble and boil. The darkness was quaking and breaking his concentration. But he kept on going. Was Pestilence catching on to his actions? No that wasn't it. Then what was it?

Outside of his subconscious, Pestilence grabbed at his body, and felt a sudden nausea spike all over him. He coughed, and spit up some of his own liquid. His eyes grew wide in panic as he tried to figure out what Benson was doing. It hit him at the very last second though, right as Benson brought the staff up, ready to strike it down. Pestilence looked over at Skips, who suddenly had a shit eating grin on his face, as if to know what was happening inside the mind of the harbinger.

Pestilence tried to stop it, forcing the staff to disintegrate. But he was too late.

Benson slammed the remnants of the rain staff onto the black floor. The films disappeared, and everything began to fall in on itself. A large black bubble began to form where the rain stick came down, growing bigger and bigger. Benson stepped back and watched it inflate, growing bigger than the park fountain, no the park house even.

Veronica stood in the side with her arms crossed, and a smile on her face, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

"Gumdrop!" Pestilence coughed. "What did he he do! Make it stop!"

She sighed as she listened to her husband's sick pouts. "Sweetie," she said in a low but compassionate tone, "I think you lost."

And then the bubble burst upward, a bright and powerful string of lights filling the world before them with hope, joy, melody, and salvation. The two saw it, and finally understanding each other, rode it upward.

_As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts,_

_All the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms..._

_Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?_

_For every kiss, your beauty trumped my doubt._

Pestilence clutched at his sides, feeling something grow and expand within him. It started off as a terrible wave of sickness, shaking his inner most being. It was trying to escape anywhere it could possibly find fit. He closed his mouth, covering it with a metal hand. Long dripping lines exploded between his fingers and he plummeted to the floor. He looked down at the seams between his framework and found the same blackness leaking out.

"Benson," he wretched as a fountain of darkness erupted from his mouth. "What have you done?"

Skips' smile widened as he watched the bad news flow out of the body, forming upward into a ball. It grew to a considerable amount, several eyes opening up in the process, which then in turn burst into a disgusting white goo. Pestilence screamed in pain as each and every eyeball was destroyed in the ball.

And then, at the very tip top of the sphere, a bulge appeared, trying to work it's way out. It stretched itself up, trying to break the membrane. But it sank away, and grew silent. Pestilence looked up from his debilitated body at the mass of his own being. And then, bulges began to appear all over the black orb, pillars of light forming out of the burst holes of the eyeballs. Pestilence's jaw sunk low in fear, unaware of what was happening.

"Hey Pestilence!" Skips yelled to him. The demon's sight shot to the yeti, as if he had an answer to what was happening all around them. Skips only persisted with his smile and quietly said, "boom."

The thing burst like a balloon, sending a bright and blinding light all around them.

_And my head told my heart,_

"_Let Love Grow!"_

_But my heart told my head,_

"_This time no, this time no..."_

The darkness that had burst fluttered and burned like paper in the wind, leaving the bright brilliance in the center of the room above Pestilence. It was glorious, carrying something in it's arms as it slowly floated down to the surface. It had no legs, and was strangely see through. But it's silhouette in the light was enough for everyone to recognize who it was.

"Benson!" Margaret yelled as a relieved smile appeared on her face. She brought her wings up to her mouth, watching her majestic friend slowly come down from the heavens.

Don shared the same sentiment, already trying to wipe away the tears that were staining his fur wet. Pops was jumping up and down, clapping his hands as he watched his worker come down to the ground. And Skips... Skips began to slowly skip forward, reaching out his hand to make sure it was real. Sure enough, he could feel the palm of his hand against the cheek of his glassy dome.

"Hey," Benson said as he placed Veronica down on the ground. She quickly kneeled down to her lover, still in Benson's body. Skips didn't say anything in response to Benson, but simply smiled as wide as he possibly could.

Somewhere in the room, Death fell to his knees and began to laugh harder than he ever had before.

_We'll be washed and buried one day my girl._

_And the time we were given will be left for the world._

_The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague._

_So let the memories be good for those who stay._

"NOOOOOO!" Pestilence screamed as he watched the sick display in front of him. He brought his hand up, pulling some sharp spines out of the ground and sending them toward Benson's free floating soul. They connected, sending the ghost across the room and pinning him to the wall. "You like that! You wanna some more!" He brought his other arm up, ready to shred the soul to pieces, but was grabbed by Veronica who told him no.

It didn't do her much good as the moment she touched his arm, it fell off, the black sludge of his blood spilling out from the shoulder gash. "Damn it," Pestilence cried in pain. "What did you do to me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Skips asked. Pestilence's confusion showed him that it obviously wasn't. That worked fine for the yeti; All the more reason to explain. "He purified you from the inside out. I couldn't think of anything more painful for someone like you." Skips turned toward Benson and skipped over to him quickly. He grabbed the spears in the ghost and pulled them out. Upon release, Benson touched the yeti in a kiss and quietly smiled at him. "Good to see you too," Skips laughed.

It then hit Skips in the back, stabbing itself deep into the muscle. The pain wasn't immediate at first, but he knew exactly what it was. He turned his head back to see the furious look on Pestilence's face.

"Why?" it coughed.

He didn't get an answer to his question as he was grabbed up by Don, breaking off his blades in the process. His metallic body was then hurled across the room. It rolled along the floor until in hit the floor. He laid there with disbelief on him before screaming out into his own darkness.

"WHY!" he roared. "WHY DOES IT HURT SO MUCH!" His screams were cut short as another wave of nausea over swept him and sent another long wretch out of his mouth.

_And my head told my heart,_

"_Let Love Grow!"_

_But my heart told my head,_

"_This time no..."_

_Yes, my heart told my head,_

"_This time no, this time no..."_

Death's chain jingled as his boot touched the floor next to Pestilence. The skeleton was still laughing and finding joy in the pain of his brother. "You just couldn't let it go, could you?"

"DEATH!" Pestilence moaned, grabbing his boot. "Do something! Kill them, reap their souls! Do anything! Please! These mortals are making a mockery of us!"

"No," Death corrected, "they're making a mockery of you, my friend. And I couldn't think of anyone else more deserving of that than you." He continued to laugh, pulling his foot away from the demon. "Besides... I've decided to give them another two minutes to kill."

Pestilence screamed out again, letting more gunk out of his system. It came out through the seams, the gears, his eyes, his mouth, everywhere. Perhaps this was the kind of pain they all had to feel when they were purified. But it was impossible, he was able to keep his cool when Skips did it to him when he was in Tim's body. How is it that he wasn't immune to it in his subconscious?

_Oh, the shame that sent me off from the god I once loved,_

_Was the same that sent me into your arms..._

_Oh and Pestilence is won when you are lost and I am gone,_

_And no hope, no hope will overcome..._

"Skips..." Benson murmured to his love.

"I already know," they yeti replied. He gave the spirit one more small kiss and sprinted his way toward Pestilence. He knew exactly what had to be done.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small rain stick from earlier that he used to free Don of the demon's grasp. He slid to a halt right in front of Benson's possessed body and stared down at the monster.

Pestilence looked up weakly, with a pleading expression on his face. "Please don't," it begged. "You can't honestly be that cruel, can you?"

"You were," Skips countered. And then he began to dance and chant. The ritual had begun once again.

"Please stop!" Pestilence pleaded with his once prey. "Please stop! Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please! I don't deserve this!" The others, including Death, and to a lesser extent Veronica, thought differently. "Please! I promise I'll be better! I promise I'll leave you alone from now on! Please! DON'T DO THIS!"

"Hey, Pestilence!" Margaret screamed from across the room. It caught his attention as his eye began to twitch painfully. "Payback's a bitch!"

And then Skips brought the stick down onto the ground in front of Pestilence.

_But if your strife strikes at your sleep,_

_Remember Spring swaps snow for leaves._

_You'll be happy and wholesome again,_

_when the city clears and sun ascends!_

It was slow at first, but the effect it had on the monster was immediate. The immediate response was his body draining itself completely of the terrible ooze that infested it. The slow response was the walls and the room shaking into a tremor that brought all those standing to the floor, save for Skips and Death.

Pestilence writhed and screamed out in the most horrific pain he had ever felt in his eternal life. He tried to reach out for either Skips or Death, but couldn't quite reach them as the rest of him emptied out of the body. The world around them then went silent and still as the lifeless body laid there. Skips took it into his arms, and looked around quickly for the spare part. Thankfully, Pops had already collected the arm and was holding it close to him.

"Death," Skips began, turning to his old friend. "I think you should probably get us out of here. You know what's coming."

"I know, mate," Death smirked. "We'll talk about our little deal after we get back outside." The skeleton then snapped his fingers, and those with physical bodies began to float up into the air. "I'm gonna stay behind for a bit and watch the bloke lose himself, if you don't mind."

"Knock yourself out," Skips chuckled. "Shame I'm going to miss it."

"I'll give you the details later."

He snapped his fingers again, and all those who had floated into the air, disappeared in a flash of light. Death sighed and looked over to his side to find the spirit of Benson floating over to him. "You really did a number on Pestilence, didn't ya?"

Benson only smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

"You know... I kind of like ya mate," Death continued. There was a loud thud heard around the two of them, and Death knew it was about to happen. "Now, let's just sit back and watch the fireworks, shall we?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Benson replied.

Thousands of eyes opened up all over the darkness and began to burst into black and white, one by one, coating the room in the strange bright color. It was almost like watching someone throw paint on a wall, but only with more screaming pain all around them and none of the mess. Death made sure to have any of the ocular liquid bounce off them if it got too close.

"Absolutely brilliant," he commented.

_And my head told my heart,_

"_Let Love Grow!"_

_But my heart told my head,_

"_This time no..."_

"It sure is," Benson agreed.

When the whole room was painted a brilliant white, one more eye opened in the center, shaking fearfully. The white walls began to crack like glass, sending lines to connect each other all around. It's cornea held the design of a five pointed diamond. It began to bleed and break. And then just like that, it let out a loud and pathetic sounding yelp, and bled itself dry.

_And my head told my heart,_

"_Let Love Grow!"_

_But my heart told my head,_

"_This time no, this time no..."_

* * *

><p>Pops was the first to reappear back in the studio, a few inches above the ground, only to fall flat on the floor. He could hear the sounds of all the rest of them returning and falling to the floor as well. He picked himself up off the floor slowly and dusted himself off. He wasn't completely sure where he was at first. All he knew was that it seemed like a television studio of some sort. He found his hat nearby his landing position and retrieved it, placing back on his head with a grin.<p>

"Pops," muttered a shaky voice in front of the old man. It was gruff, but caring and filled with love. Pops had always known that voice, and would never forget it, or the face for which it belonged to. He looked up, saw the carrier and rushed to embrace him.

Maellard dropped his cane on the ground and slowly made his way over to his son, hugging him as tight as his tired old bones would allow him. He began to happily cry in joy, telling his son repeatedly how much he missed him and how worried he was for his well being.

"I know, papa," Pops replied. "I know."

Margaret rubbed her head, finding the landing somewhat awkward. But when she looked around her surroundings, she knew where they were. She didn't care that the studio was where nightmares were made for people. She cherished the fact that she was out of there and safe. Margaret could feel that this wasn't a dream, and knew that the reality for her was real.

She saw Pops and Maellard embracing, and found some solace in that. Then, she remembered something and reached into her pocket. Her cellphone was still there, and strangely working with a full battery now. With it, she hurried it to her address book and called the first name she could think of. The phone on the other end rang a few times.

"Hello?" came the voice from the other end of the phone.

"Mordecai?" she replied back to it, her heart filling with joy.

The other end paused for a moment, until a shaky answer slowly sputtered out. "M-M-Margaret?" A few voices in the background could be heard as Eileen and Rigby yelled out her name as well. Margaret could hear them asking questions and wondering if she was okay or if she needed to go to the hospital. She was too busy smiling to answer.

Don was the last one to pick himself up, but the only one to remain still in fear. Perhaps it was something to do with the confusion of reality, or the torture that was constantly submitted to him inside the creature. He wasn't sure, but there was one thing that persisted on his terrified mind and heart: Benson was still inside. Skips was there with his body, but what about his soul?

The raccoon tried to pick himself up, but for some reason, his legs just wouldn't move. He could still feel them, but they were cold and shaking. Perhaps it was out of fear. He didn't know exactly what it was, but it was keeping him down.

And that's when he saw it: the giant mass of blackness that had swallowed them all up in the first place. It breathed in shallow breaths. One by one, it began to slowly close it's eyes, as if it could barely keep itself awake. Over it, Skips looked on, still holding Benson's body. Veronica was at the dark creature's side, trying to console it and telling it everything was going to be alright.

Don almost took pity on the monster, but knew better considering what it had just put him and his friends through. "Skips. What are you going to do to it?"

"I'm gonna do it one more time," Skips answered, holding up the small rain stick. "For the last time."

"This won't kill him, will it?" Veronica asked with sympathy.

Skips didn't answer. He just began the ceremony one more time. He wasted no time, doing the dance, saying the words, and ending the ritual.

Mind...

Body...

Soul...

Pestilence had been purified in all three areas now. The black creature began to melt away, it's eyes closing shut, leaving only a single one open. Veronica grabbed for the eye and pulled it away from the melting body, taking with it a small amount of ooze that solidified into a rubber like substance. Another eye appeared in the somewhat large pile in her arm, and then strangely, a mouth. It slowly came to consciousness and looked up at her. She smiled down at it and chuckled slightly.

"So is this it?" she asked. "Is this what you really look like?"

Pestilence was confused at first. But then when he looked down at himself, he groaned and tried to cover his face with his nubby arms. "Oh, God Quintel... I'm hideous again."

Skips looked at the whimpering creature: the true form of the being known as Pestilence. It was simply a strange black creature without a body. It was the exact same kind of creature that Rigby had become when his body rejected him once upon a time. "That's how the gods found him the first time, before they gave him the name of Pestilence." He had never seen him like this before, only hearing things from Death and Gary.

"That must have been a long time ago," Veronica sighed. She watched the sad crying creature and gently hugged it. "Doesn't matter to me. You're still my husband. We'll just find you another body to skulk around in." Pestilence wasn't listening, and continued to sob into his wife's chasis, like a child to a mother.

Skips shook his head and rolled his eyes. He brought his attention back over to the melting mass of darkness that disintegrated away into nothing. In that mass, Death and the soul of Benson appeared, idling chatting about – of all topics – Skips.

"And there you two are," Skips commented.

Benson ceased his discussion with Death and brought himself over to Skips, smiling with triumph and confidence.

"Well look at you," Skips said to the gumball machine. "You're smiling, you look rested, and you're literally glowing." He laughed, which was returned the same way from Benson, and then held up the metal body he had carried with him. "I think this belongs to you."

"I think it does," Benson replied happily. "Thanks for holding onto it for me!" He floated high above it and prepared to descend into the hard frame, and reclaim himself as he should.

"Hold it!" Death yelled, bringing his scythe down next to the lifeless head of Benson's. "We still have a few things to hammer out before all these happy endings can happen. Alright?"

Both Benson and Skips frowned at the skeleton. They just wanted this mess to be done and over with so they could, for once in this whole damned chain of events, be happy.

"Well I should rephrase that," Death continued. "I mean to say that there's still the topic of me saving your arses from Pestilence in exchange for Skips' immortal soul. And I don't think any of you can say otherwise to something like that."

"Now hold on a second!" Benson argued. "We go through all of this: all the fights, all the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the arguments, the kidnappings, everything! We go through all of that, and you want to take Skips away from us! Over my dead body!"

Death looked amusingly at Benson's corpse, and puckered his lips in a somewhat comical manner.

"You know what I mean!" Benson corrected himself.

"Yeah!" Don agreed with Benson. "It's not fair! They go through all of that, and you won't let Skips and Benson be together finally? Where's your heart?"

Death laughed and looked at the raccoon's direction. "Really? You really want to know?"

"Death!" Veronica yelled out. "They're right! If anything, they deserve something for going through all of that!" She stroked her husband's scalp and shook her head with a smile. "I mean, how many people can you think of that successfully took down the embodiment of Pestilence?"

The skeleton thought about it and nodded. She was right. It certainly was a sight to watch Pestilence explode from the inside out, only to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor of a conservative news anchor's sound stage. He wasn't going to deny that it was a sight to behold. However, it wasn't enough to detract him from what he really wanted. "I am not leaving empty handed."

Veronica groaned. "And you can't just give Benson and Skips this one pass. I mean, they literally went through hell and back." The little black blob in her arms murmured something antagonizing, but she didn't hear it. "After everything my husband put the two of them through, I think they deserve a rest more than you deserve your little soul."

He slashed his blade toward her, stopping just short of her glass. She didn't flinch. Veronica was used to these kinds of temper tantrums.

"Much like your once powerful husband there," Death began, "I have a problem with losing. The difference is I'm patient enough for the game to roll in my favor. And guess who's holding the cards now?"

There was a shuffle from all around him as he was beginning to be surrounded. Pops had helped Don to his feet and they stood angrily toward the skeleton. Maellard was next to them, brandishing one of his epees from earlier. Margaret had hung up the phone after requesting the boys and Eileen to come down to the TV station immediately. Skips even looked like he was ready to start a war to decide the outcome of his soul – once and for all.

Death was outnumbered, but not underpowered. "Are you kidding me?" he asked with a sarcastic tone. "Do you honestly think that a bunch of mortals, some of you more dead or dying than others, can stand up to me?"

"We've beat you before," Skips reminded him.

Death released a long strand of breath through his nose. If there was one thing he didn't want to get involved in right now, it was a fight. "Wankers... wankers, all of you." His boney and decomposed fingers gripped on the handle of his weapon. "I will reap each and every one of you, one by one if I have to."

All them stood on edge, knowing what this would have to degrade into if it must.

"No one will be doing any reaping today," A stray voice came from nowhere. It came directly behind Veronica and Pestilence, with which everyone looked. A somewhat tall and skinny man with starry eyes and blonde hair in a business casual suit stood there with a tired frown on his face.

"Gary!" Pestilence squeaked in a high pitch voice. "What are you doing here?" The angelic being stared down at him, looking at him as though he already knew the answer. A realization sudden came to him, and Pestilence discovered that, in fact, he did know what the chauffeur of the gods was doing there. "Oh no..."

"That's right," Gary said with a nod. "You've failed in your responsibilities as a harbinger of Pestilence. The God's of Youth have requested your presence immediately." A puff of smoke exploded behind him and a large limousine appeared as it cleared.

Veronica looked at it and commented in her mind how absolutely gorgeous it was. She had never seen such a pristine vehicle in all her life. It was something that Pestilence would have loved to drive around in. It was then that she noticed that her husband was gone. He had disappeared out of her arms.

"Can't we talk about this?" Pestilence screamed from inside the car. "There's no reason for us to go this far!" He banged on the window, hoping his sad little puppy dog eyes would convince Gary to stop what he was doing.

"Sorry," the man said to him. "I'm only the chauffeur." His hand curled into a fist, and the car became sound proof, blocking out the screams of it's rider. Seeing that annoyance taken care of, he turned his attention to the rest of the group. "The gods would also like to speak with the three of you," he added toward Skips, Benson, and Death.

"Why us?" Benson asked.

Gary shrugged his shoulders and repeated the same thing as he did to Pestilence: "I'm only the chauffeur."

"Do we have to?" Death complained. "I was kind of in the middle of something."

"I believe the something is what they wanted to see you all about," Gary answered.

"I thought you said you didn't know," Benson said with a curve of his eyebrow.

Gary grinned and brought his open palm up. "I said I was the chauffeur. I didn't say anything about not knowing what was happening." He closed his hand and the rest of them were inside the limousine. Gary adjusted his rear view mirror and put the car into reverse. "All I know is that you've made a bit of a mess of the natural order in debilitating Pestilence, and the gods would like to talk to the three of you about it."

"About what?" Skips pondered to the driver.

"About possible solutions."

Pestilence shivered. He didn't like the sound of that. "This isn't going to end well for me, is it?"

Death smiled and playfully pinched the black blob. "Doesn't it always, Pessie?"

Skips looked out the window at the rest of the group, all of them worried and scared for their friends. "Hold on a sec, Gary."

"We're on a schedule here, Skips," the blonde announced. "We don't have time for bathroom breaks. Hold it in."

"It's not that!" the yeti replied. "I just want to tell my friends what's going on. You at least can wait on that."

Gary tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and pursed his lips impatiently. The windows began to lower on their own as he waited. "You have thirty seconds."

"Thanks." Skips motioned for Margaret to come over, which she did in a near sprint.

"What's going on?" she asked quickly. "Where are you guys going? What's happening to you all?"

"Don't worry about us right now," Skips assured her. "We're going to go have a talk with some of the gods upstairs. Nothing important."

Margaret flinched at that remark, but shook it off. "What are you all going to talk about?"

"I think Benson and I sort of screwed up the 'natural order'," he said with air quotes, "so we're going to go and try to figure out how we can fix this."

"Natural order?"

"I don't get it either," he replied, "but we'll be fine. We may even be back before tomorrow morning. It shouldn't take too long."

"Ten seconds," Gary snapped.

Margaret jumped, realizing she didn't have much time. She wanted so hard to say something important and uplifting, but she just couldn't form the words. She looked back at everyone else, and looked at all the worried and anxious looks about them. The red robin didn't need to think any harder about what to say to the two men.

"Skips, you take care of him," she said, which was replied with a nod of the yeti's head. "And Benson... everyone here loves you." She smiled as hard as she could, spreading her optimism to Benson.

"I don't," Pestilence hissed.

"Neither do I," Death agreed.

"You two shut up!" Skips yelled. He turned back to Margaret and sighed. "We'll be fine."

The car shook as Gary slowly pressed down on the acceleration. Margaret waved goodbye to the two men as the limousine lifted into the air, and crashed through the ceiling. It flew high in the sky, blending in with the stars and night sky.

"So are they going to be alright?" Maellard asked as he limped over to the girl. "Where are they going?"

She continued to star up into the stars, watching a few twinkle silently. "Their going to go figure things out. I guess they have some loose ends to close up there."

"What do you think will happen?"

"I don't know," she said with a shake of her head. "We'll find out when they get back."

The group stared up at the giant hole in the ceiling, watching the limo turn into a shooting star and blast off into the distance.

**The Wretched Automatons** – _Keiichi Okabe_  
><strong>Winter Winds<strong> – _Mumford and Sons_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Hey hey! It's me again! And with those song credits, that marks the end of the main chapters of Diamonds. Now we got the post chapter stuff to contend with: in other words, the three endings and an Epilogue to try and wrap things up. I'll be posting them all next week, and I hope you find them entertaining. While they aren't as couple centric as Triangles was, it's more dramatic, and a few different endings that I just couldn't decide on. So everyone enjoy them!

_So Until Next Chapter..._

_Adieu..._


	32. 1 Nowhere and Everywhere

**Nowhere and Everywhere**

**Broken Diamonds**

_...are just as rare as full ones._

The men stood in complacent frustration, certain that if they moved or even spoke a word, the gods would kill them on the spot. Even Death and the remnants of Pestilence shivered in fear as they pondered what would happen to them next. Skips and Benson kept exchanging glances to one another, occasionally smiling to one and nodding to the other.

The stage they stood on was large and blinding from the clash of white that surrounded them, and the empty and black void of space above them. In their front, a circular staircase led upwards to a platform, which protruded five pillars into the sky. There, the Gods of Youth – in the form of large infants with bronze helmets and bibs – debated amongst themselves. They would stare down at each and everyone of the group standing before them, before returning to the discussion at hand.

Gary stood behind the men on trial, leaning against the vehicle he had brought them in with his hands crossed. He remained silent and watched the show unfold slowly in front of him, secretly hoping for a verdict that would wrap this whole mess up.

There was suddenly a quiet calm about the gods.

The two on the left looked down at Benson and nodded. The other three disagreed.

And yet, they believed that this was for the best. They debated back and forth about it, but eventually the three let up.

The judgment was ready to be carried out.

* * *

><p><strong>One Month Passes...<strong>

* * *

><p>The sun slow falls into the horizon as the clock strikes 7pm. The usual evening runners and romantic hand holders come out around this time, and usually around this time, they tend to overpopulate the park when compared to those who come out during the day. Luckily, most of those people could be kept to themselves along with the park.<p>

There were more important things to worry about besides a few negligible people though. For instance: there was the matter of trying to train a few people up to their new positions at the park.

Mordecai flipped on the living room light in the house as he passed by.

"Thank you, Mordecai!" Pop happily exclaimed, prying himself away from a book about business practices and terms. The bird replied with "no problem" and headed toward the kitchen to meet up with his friend.

"Where are you guys off to?" Skips asked the passing blue jay, as he too was buried in a book about the proper ways to manage a staff without hassle.

"Just off with Margaret and Eileen," Mordecai commented before stepping into the kitchen with an excited grin on his face.

Skips nodded and returned to his studies. "Try to be back before midnight this time. We gotta get ready for the art festival next week, and you know what that means." He heard Rigby's groan from the other room, and knew he didn't need to remind them any further and dropped the subject.

The kitchen door then opened and closed, and the house officially belonged to Skips and Pops for the rest of the night. Just as well, they thought, because they were going to need that time to study.

Skips flipped the page over and read over the proper procedures of some activity he didn't really care about before closing the book and throwing it on the table. "I don't see why I have to get certified for this. Benson didn't have to get certified for anything."

The lolliman stared up at Skips from his book for a brief moment and then looked back down at the text. "Well, I'm afraid that things must change with the time, Skips old boy. Papa wants to make you the park manager as soon as possible."

"Yeah, so he can make me the park owner then," the yeti countered. His head hurt from all the information he had just absorbed, and really didn't want to go through another chapter of that garbage, even if the certification test was coming up soon.

Pops listened to Skips bemoan like an angry student, and frowned at the general lack of interest. "Now now, Skips," he began, placing his book next to yeti's, "that's no attitude for a future park owner. You need to be pleasant and optimistic for all of our future patrons. Do you think Benson would act like that?"

Skips smiled and aimed his gaze at Pops, filled with sarcastic joy.

The old man chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. "Oh yes... I forgot."

Skips laughed along with him before leaning back and propping his legs on the coffee table. He made sure to push Mordecai and Rigby's little video game system out of the way, and not off the table like he had done so many times in the past. If it weren't for the fact that the console was so retro, he would have shelled out the money for wireless controllers. But then they would probably get upset about having to get up to turn on the system.

Little things like that sparked a sort of nostalgic excitement inside the heart of the yeti. Even something small as that made him happy to be alive and experiencing a new day and all it's wonders. His birthday was coming up in a couple of short months, and he couldn't wait to perform the ritual and have a nice long talk with Gary. As his mind focused on the angelic being though, it shifted to something far more important to him.

"I need to go," Skips announced. He steadily stood up from the chair and skipped over to the front door.

"Going to see him?" Pops asked. It stopped Skips as soon as he got to the door. His hand was extended out to the knob already, which was more than enough evidence to support Pops' claim. The naïve gentleman stood up and quietly walked to the kitchen.

Skips knew what he was going to get, and he didn't like it. It sickened him that he had to have those things in order to visit the person he cared about most.

Pops returned and offered the white beast a small sandwich baggie with a few small folded up items in it. Skips took them with an indignant snatch, much like a child getting his lunch box for school.

"Do be careful," Pops said to him, "and give Benson my best regards!"

"I will, Pops." And away he went, out the door, and toward the golf cart. He already had the keys out and ready. Perhaps too ready, as his shakey hands just had trouble getting them in the ignition.

* * *

><p>Skips jumped out of the golf cart and made his way into the familiar apartment complex that he had visited so often through out this part of his immortal life. He took a moment to admire the boarded up windows and the large papers, taped to the entrance that read the place as condemned and a bio-hazard. As he stepped inside, he pulled out the small bag Pops had given him, and donned the items inside.<p>

The elevator had been out for weeks now, with no hope for repair anytime soon. Yet, the hall lights were still active, as well as the downstairs kitchen in the resident lounge area. The actual apartments themselves had been left dark and desolate after everyone had evacuated. As such, the city thought it best to just turn the power off in those rooms. It would save on money for the long run. They turned each and everyone off as each resident fled. All except one.

Skips skipped out of the stairwell onto the floor he needed and turned the corner. The air on the floor was heavy and humid. He felt like he could swim through it if he tried. It was only going to get worse as he kept moving closer and closer to it.

He turned the corner again and stopped. Now was the time for him to be more careful where he stepped: large puddles of black ooze splotched all around floor and walls. He needed to be careful and avoid them the best as he could. Unlike the Pestilence from the past, he was not immune to this disease. Skips was used to it though, jumping around and finding the best paths to him. It wouldn't take him long. No, what he hated the most was not being able to get right up close to him.

Right there, in front of Benson's apartment, sat the titled name character. It gave Skips a grin to see him well, or at least as well as he could possibly imagine Benson was. Needless to say, the gumball machine had seen better days.

He sat against the door, staring at the puddle of black ooze that was dribbling out of every orifice on his metal body. His crank, his flap, his dome, the seams on his legs and arms, everywhere. His body was a terrible shade of noir, though one could still see the red of his naturally painted color, and his dome was still there enough to see the eyes, nose, and mouth.

That didn't matter to Skips though. As long as he knew that Benson was alive and well, that made him happy enough. Well was not the proper choice of words to describe Benson's predicament though. Especially considering the yeti had to wear a face mask and rubber gloves just to visit him.

"Hey, Benson," he greeted in the most excited tone he could muster, considering.

The gumball machine turned his head over to him and smiled slightly. "Hey Skips," he weakly sighed. "When did you get here?"

"Just now," the yeti replied, looking around himself for a place to sit. Unfortunately, there wasn't any nearby place for him to relax without touching any of that gunk. The last time that happened, he had to go to the end of the hallway and have a screaming conversation. Benson was used to doing that, but afterwards, Skips throat hurt something fierce.

Benson was prepared for this eventuality this time though. "Hold on one second." He placed his hand into the ooze and closed his eyes. His face squirmed as his eyelids wrinkled and curled, and the sludge began to recede slightly. It wasn't moving that fast, but it was just enough to give Skips a sitting spot to relax nearby.

"Good job," Skips complimented. "Did you just learn that one?"

Benson shuddered and lost concentration. The ooze ceased receding and returned to slowly spreading at a snail's pace. "A few days ago. I'm trying to figure out how to use this stuff as soon as possible. Death said I have a lot to do when I'm up and about."

"Of course he does," the yeti replied. "Still... it must be tough to be the new embodiment of Pestilence, huh."

"Don't remind me," Benson interrupted. "In fact, I don't want to talk about it. Let's talk about something else."

Skips agreed. He didn't want his visits to degrade into conversations about what happened between them when they were on trial with the Gods of Youth. All he knew was that those two gods were pissed off that Benson had successfully subdued what was essentially a perfect immortal being so cleverly. Perhaps that's why they chose him as the new candidate for Pestilence. It perplexed most of them, but horrified Benson and the previous being of sickness.

"I'm just happy you got to keep your soul," Benson sighed. "It makes all this seem a little more bearable."

Skips smiled and gave the gumball machine a little wink. Looks like their conversation was going to turn into that after all. "I was surprised too, you know. I thought for sure that Death was gonna claim me this time."

"The look on his face was priceless," Benson smirked.

"You better believe it!" Skips exclaimed with a loud laugh. "I kind of wish I was able to take a picture of it, so I could frame it and mount it in the shed." He continued to chuckle, reliving the moment and enjoying how something as simple as an expression was so memorable and hilarious, even when it was only in his mind now.

Benson shook his head, and did his best to calm his own laughter down. "Yeah well... we better keep our jokes to a minimum now. You know who might be listening, and if he's anything like me when Mordecai and Rigby are talking nasty behind my back, then he'd crack his bones with how angry he'd be." He really tried not to grin and laugh at that, but it was just too much to hold in. Perhaps this was how the two slackers actually felt when they bad mouthed him. Speaking of which... "How is the park?"

Skips shrugged and answered, "the usual." He was about to continue when he saw some of the ooze slowly make it's way toward him. It flowed away a second later, thanks in due part to Benson trying to master his new powers. When that was done, Skips thanked him and continued. "Pops and I have been doing a lot of studying lately to get certified for the new positions."

"Still?" Benson replied with a half grin. "It seems like you guys have been studying for months."

"Only a couple of week," Skips replied. "But it does feel like it's been a while. It doesn't make things easier for me that the test isn't an online one." He shuddered at the idea of dealing with anything involving the computer. He could handle small things like search engines and such, but anything else...

Benson folded his liquid soaked arms and told him, "you two will be fine." He then slowly stood up, keeping himself balanced on the door. "You'll be in better condition then me, that's for sure."

Skips knew where this was going, and he didn't want it too. The last time Benson depressed himself in this state, the whole floor was flooded for two weeks. "Now c'mon Benson. You know you'll be alright too. Just give it a little more time."

"I'm sick of this, Skips," he sighed. "I'm sick of waking up everyday to an empty apartment building that I can't even leave, only to have the TV, the internet, and me trying to figure all this out to keep me company." He pointed to the ooze all around him and slammed his head against the door. "I miss eating and drinking things too. I know I technically don't have to anymore, what with being immortal and everything, but still. I miss that kind of stuff."

The flow from Benson's chasis steadily began to increase in overflow. Skips jumped up and skipped away a few steps to make sure he didn't get taken by the gunk.

"To make matters worse," Benson continued, "I can't do anything with anyone in this state. I can't go to the movies, or work at the park, or hang out with Pops or Don, or... or be with you even."

"Okay, Benson, just stop," Skips interjected. He didn't want to be forcefully thrown out because of something they discussed almost every visit now. "It's gonna work out fine. You just need to get used to controlling all this stuff first, and then we'll get you back up on your feet."

"Oh yeah, like that'll fix everything," the machine sarcastically chided. "Then I get to go around the world, making people sick and giving Death a reason to kill everyone. Yeah, that's gonna be the best thing ever."

"It won't be that bad," Skips tried to convince. "I'll be there with you. It won't be anything too hard. It'll be like a day job for you. I mean, look at the old Pestilence and all the stuff he did on the side when he wasn't acting like a lunatic." He thought about it for a second, and realized that may not have been the best example in the world but it was the only one that he could think of. "And I have some stuff planned out too."

Benson grew slightly curious, but knew that whatever Skips had planned probably wouldn't help him feel better. "And what exactly would those be?"

The beast could see the exhaustion in Benson's eyes. He hated seeing him like that, but knew that is was only temporary. "My birthday is coming up soon, and when I perform the ritual, I'm gonna ask Gary and the gods for a little something extra."

"And what would that be?"

"The ability to touch you without getting sick."

Benson stopped struggling with his footing for a moment and remained still. He looked down toward the ground and then back to Skips. The gumball machine was smiling. "You really think they'll grant you something like that?"

Skips nodded. "I know they will." His voice was soothing to Benson suddenly, and it helped calm his nerves little by little. "And then when that's all over with, you and I can celebrate my birthday in our own little way."

"Really?"

"Definitely!" Skips' excitement in his voice was building, and it was actually passing over to Benson, like he wanted it to. "And then when you've mastered your powers a bit better, and you can hold all this sludge in, we'll take a long vacation and see the whole world."

"Just you and me?"

The yeti nodded. "Absolutely! I even talked to Maellard a little about it. He said he was going to think about it, depending on the dates and all that."

"So I guess that means I should really be working on trying to control myself better, huh?" Benson asked. His mood had shifted to a much more cheerful one.

"You better, or I'm gonna have to make you." Skips chuckled as he playfully cracked his knuckles.

Benson placed his hand his hip and smirked at the immortal beast. "Do you really think that kind of intimidation works on me? Who's stronger than who right now?"

"Who knows a purifying ritual?" Skips shot back.

They both playfully argued back and forth, trying to break the tension the best they could. It actually helped, as the ooze slowly pulled itself away from Skips to a point where the yeti could approach the gumball machine and get within arms length of him.

He touched the glassy dome with his hand and stroked Benson's cheek with his thumb. "One of these days, I'm gonna be able to do this without a glove."

"Hopefully, sooner than later," Benson said smiling, though a little depressed about it.

"Don't worry," Skips replied. "It'll be before you even know it."

Those little words were enough to keep Benson smiling for the rest of the time Skips was there. He wished the yeti could stay longer, but he knew that staying there for any prolonged period was hazardous to Skips health. The yeti would perform the ritual like he always did after he left, right outside the complex, even though he had never touched the substance. Benson insisted on it. Better safe than sorry.

When he finished, and had nothing to expel from his body, Skips would look up at the floor that Benson resided on and watch the only window in the complex that wasn't boarded up. The gumball machine would look down at Skips and smile fondly, mentally counting down the days to Skips birthday, praying and wishing that the gods would give his love this one gift. It was all they both wanted more than anything.

The yeti waved to the window with his lover staring down at him, and Benson waved back.

The day after his birthday, they would share their first kiss since it all had happened.

Skips would then move in with no difficulty.

**Nowhere and Everywhere** – _Yoko Kanno_

* * *

><p><strong>A sickly sort of ending...<strong>

Ending One of Three


	33. 2 Otherside of the World

**Otherside of the World**

**Broken Diamonds...**

_...Can Cut Glass._

The men stood in complacent frustration, certain that if they moved or even spoke a word, the gods would kill them on the spot. Even Death and the remnants of Pestilence shivered in fear as they pondered what would happen to them next. Skips and Benson kept exchanging glances to one another, occasionally smiling to one and nodding to the other.

The stage they stood on was large and blinding from the clash of white that surrounded them, and the empty and black void of space above them. In their front, a circular staircase led upwards to a platform, which protruded five pillars into the sky. There, the Gods of Youth – in the form of large infants with bronze helmets and bibs – debated amongst themselves. They would stare down at each and everyone of the group standing before them, before returning to the discussion at hand.

Gary stood behind the men on trial, leaning against the vehicle he had brought them in with his hands crossed. He remained silent and watched the show unfold slowly in front of him, secretly hoping for a verdict that would wrap this whole mess up.

There was suddenly a quiet calm about the gods.

The two on the right looked down at Skips and nodded. The other three disagreed.

And yet, they believed that this was for the best. They debated back and forth about it, but eventually the three let up.

The judgment was ready to be carried out.

* * *

><p><strong>Three Months Pass...<strong>

* * *

><p>It was hot. Hotter than usual actually. Even higher than most days during the summer. And with the air conditioner burned out in the house, it turned the park home into a sweltering and painfully warm oven that was especially lethal towards those with fur and metal. Luckily, Mordecai remedied this for his friend by sleeping out in Skips' lodging, which still had working air and electricity. After they spent a few nights there, they even mustered up the courage to ask Benson if they could move in there sometime.<p>

"Are you serious?" the gumball machine spat as he wiped his glassy brow of precipitation. He twitched as he felt a droplet of water form and slide down the inside of his dome. He hadn't been weather proofed yet for the season and it was driving him insane. But that was besides the point. "No," he immediately answered.

Mordecai and Rigby simply exchanged an unrelenting glance to the other and folded their arms in a "pissed off" manner. "It's not like he's going to be using it anytime soon, Benson," Rigby argued.

"Yeah, dude," Mordecai added. "I don't think he's coming back for a while. After what you told us, do you think he really is gonna be coming back to the park, let alone this planet?"

Rigby nodded along in agreement, closing his eyes, looking like a sad little yes man to his friend. "And there's no point in letting the shack go to waste like that. Mordecai and I can take care of it while he's gone and..."

"I said no!" the man screamed at his workers. "And this is the only time I'm going to tell you! If you come back and try to ask me again, YOU'RE FIRED!" He meant it too. His voice was more high pitched and demanding of the two this time, which actually sent a small shiver down the anthros spines. "Now get back to work! I got paperwork to finish up!" He pointed angrily out the door, trying to control his temper as he did. The heat wasn't helping matters either.

The two men knew not to argue with him when he was like this and quickly evacuated the small office, as well as the house. They both agreed not to ask him again. That didn't stop them from staying in the little cabin for as long as they could without Benson knowing. Even after Benson eventually got the AC repaired, that place was just too good to pass up.

Benson snuffed out some steam through his nose and banged his metal hands onto the desk. He wasn't sure how hot his internal temperature was, but whatever it was, it hurt his insides and made him more irritable then usual. The slacker twins picked the absolute wrong day to ask inane questions, especially when it involved Skips.

Benson tried to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down, but his sighs repeatedly released as a light steam through his nose. This wasn't any type of environment to work in right now. He stepped up and decided to finish his work somewhere more pleasant and manageable.

Within a minute, he was already coming down the basement steps with his folders and books in his arms. He took a few steps down and stopped. A small bit of nostalgia swept back to him as he remembered all the horror that had begun in that basement so many months ago, and the outcome from it. He shook himself free of the past and continued down onto the ground floor.

"Pops!" Benson exclaimed as he found his boss sitting up against the door to the freezer, reading some books. The naïve man greeted Benson with a wave and returned to his studies. Benson smiled and sat down next to him, dropping all his papers on the floor. "Looks like you had the same idea as me."

Pops closed his book halfway and adjusted himself to the atmosphere of new company. "Yes, it's dreadfully hot upstairs. I just couldn't focus on my academic studies." He waved his book a bit at Benson and turned the page in it.

"How is the studying going?" Benson asked as he clicked open his pen and began to work on some of the park's finances.

"Oh quite well," Pops replied. "Though I don't know if I'm ready for the exam in a few months. These exams do seem to be quite bothersome, and there's so much information for me to memorize."

"You'll do fine," Benson assured him as he flicked his pen over the added amount of the park's snack expense. "It's not like your alone in studying all this stuff anyways." He put down his pen and showed Pops one of the books he brought down. "Hopefully I'm as good a park owner as you."

Pops actually rolled his eyes at Benson and giggled somewhat. "I do believe anyone would be a more competent park owner than me, my good man. I think you ran the park more than I ever did." The man said it in such a way where it didn't sound so self deprecating, but more appreciative of Benson's skills.

The gumball machine shrugged and said, "We both did well, I think." Benson dropped it at that and went back to the paperwork, while Pops returned to his studies.

The two men sat there quietly as they worked on what needed to be done, and only spoke when they felt like the silence needed to be broken, usually about the weather, or Maellard, or the tests they both had within the next couple of months. It worried the two of them, but they both had each other to quiz and use as study buddies.

Once the paper work was finished, Benson collected all the scraps of paper, and put them to the side in a neat and orderly manner. "I miss having Don around," he muttered to himself as he grabbed one of his study book. "He would have finished that paper work miles ahead of me."

Pops agreed, and he patted the gumball machine on the shoulder, only to take his hand away quickly from the heat coming off the metal. "Sorry about that," Benson laughed. "It takes a while for me to cool down after I've absorbed this much heat."

"No ill feelings," Pops replied, sucking on his hand as if that would cool it down. "Have you considered talking to the park doctor about getting one of those new stay cool bodies I heard about? They might do you some good this summer. I'm sure Papa would gladly pay for the cost and installation."

Those weather proof chasises did sound like heaven to Benson. He had heard wonderful things about them, especially from Veronica who said that they kept from overheating overseas in the more wasteland areas of the world. Unfortunately, the process was an all day procedure, and Benson just didn't have the time for that.

"Thank Pops, but I'll have to pass for now." He sighed, watching steam sniffle out through his nose again. He really wanted one, and he knew Maellard would be generous with him, but until things were settled at the park with he and Pops' tests and trying to keep Mordecai and Rigby from ditching to see their girlfriends, he had his hands full, as usual. "I think I'll try to just manage and survive until..."

He stopped, looking in front of him. Something white and see through was phasing out of the floor. Benson stood up, letting the book in his lap drop to the floor. "Fives!" he yelled as a smile spread over his face.

Pops adopted the same happy expression as his worker, a giddy excitement washing over him. "High Five Ghost! You've come back! Any news on the otherside?" He took the words right out of Benson's mouth.

"What do you have to tell us, Fives?" Benson asked, impatient with waiting for a reply.

However, the small ghost floated up to the middle of the room and looked slightly different than usual. In fact, he looked almost scrunched up as if there was an invisible vice over him. A second later, Death appeared behind High Five Ghost, his muscle bound arm keeping the spirit in submission. Both Benson and Pops gasped in surprise. The skeleton then pulled his arm back and chucked the ghost at Benson. It hit the machine in the gut and threw him against the wall. Both the ghost and man fell to the ground with the air knocked out of them.

"What have I told toy about sending your little spy to check up on him?" Death snapped at the group. He pulled out his scythe and angrily gripped the hilt of it. "If I catch him again, I'm going to kill all the grass in your park for the next 20 years, do you hear me, mate? Let's see you keep business up then!" He reached back his massive weapon and slashed at the air, creating a vortex into another dimension, which he jumped inside before it closed behind him.

Pops didn't stop to awe at the site, quickly helping the two men back up on their feet. "Are you both okay?"

Benson didn't even answer him. He just grabbed the ghost and dusted him off before placing him back in the air. "What did you see? Did you talk to him? Did he say anything to us?"

"Hold on, hold on," the ghost wailed. "Give me a minute to catch my breath. I was floating forever from him. I thought for sure he wasn't going to catch me this time." Two smaller arms protruded from his sides as he dusted the spare ectoplasmic dust off of him that Benson couldn't get, and returned to his normal form and position. "Okay, what do you want to know this time?"

"You know what I want to know!" Benson yelled. "Did you see Skips!"

The spirit was taken slightly a back from his boss's sudden angry and disparate tone of voice. Pops could tell that Five's was a little nervous and tried to fix this. "Now now, Benson. Let's just try to calm down and listen. Getting angry isn't going to make High Five Ghost explain any faster, will it?"

Benson knew it wouldn't, but a combination of the heat and the sudden and crippling loneliness that attacked his heart was making him more scared and nervous than he original thought he'd be. He uncurled his fists, took some more breaths in, and let the color recede from his face. "Okay. Okay, I'm good." he said to himself. "I'm ready Five's. Did you see Skips?"

The ghost smiled and curved his eyes upwards to create excitement. "I certainly did!"

Benson smiled ear to ear, his anticipation rising ever so highly. "And what did he say?"

"Well," Fives cleared his throat, "I don't really remember everything he said, but he did give me this." His two extra appendages appeared again, this time holding several piece of paper. Benson wasted no time in snatching them and looking through them in a haphazard manner.

"It's a letter," he commented. Fives nodded with him, and the three encircled the scraps of paper as Benson read the note from his love out loud:

_Dear Everyone,_

_ How's it going? I wonder if that's an appropriate way to start this thing off? It's a little more cheery than I wanted it to be, but considering what I'm going through right now, I'd say I'm kind of trying to force it out right now._

_ Fives tells me that Benson and Pops are studying for some big test coming up. I guess you guys are getting that promotion after all. I hope my position is still there when I eventually get back. Heh Heh. My "training" is going along pretty well too. Can you believe it? They just went and had to force this thing on me. I mean, I'm happy that it's not taking up the mantel of Pestilence. But Strife? Ugh... I turned them down once before in the past, and now they're forcing me to become the embodiment of war. Makes me wonder what they have in store in the future. Death hears whispers, but doesn't tell me much._

_ Speaking of which: he hasn't stopped riding my ass since he officially "reaped" my soul. Pretty short lived considering he doesn't have possession of it. That steamed him up something fierce. Gary's a laugh though, holding my soul over his head like that. I swear, those two are always at each other's throats but always end up at some bar in the afterlife drinking up a storm. Lucky them..._

_ I miss being with my friends. This place gives me a headache. Some days, I'm working on trying to become an embodiment of war, and other days, Death just likes to stick me in this empty void to torture me. I don't think he means anything truly mean by it, but it is kind of a low blow. I guess he's just mad about everything that's happened in the past. All it really does is makes me want to punch him in his nose hole._

_ I don't know when I'm getting out, but hopefully it's soon. They can't keep me locked up in here forever. I can't start my new "job" of being Strife until they let me get some air on the "mortal plain," which we all know is the best plain. I'm not looking forward to the next 1000 years or so. I mean, UGH, right? I think that would be something Mordecai and Rigby would say. How are they by the way? Fives told me that got girlfriends finally. Well, I guess Mordecai got Margaret, and Rigby's probably angry and just going along with Eileen. I wish them the best, I guess._

_ And how's Muscle Man? I don't know all the details, but he's been really quiet through all of this. Even after all that, both him and High Five Ghost stayed pretty distant from all the havoc. I guess that was probably for the best. I couldn't image what kind of antics they would get into if something like this happened to them. Probably best not to think about it._

_ I think that's as much as I really want to write for everyone. I just wanted to make sure that you all know that I'm doing alright, and that I should be back with you all soon enough. Death said I can keep my job at the park as some sort of moonlighting deal while I'm Strife. It's kind of like how Pestilence was a business man on the side while he was really sickness. But I guess we probably shouldn't talk about that, huh?_

_ I should go. I actually shouldn't even be writing this stuff. Death doesn't like me trying to get in contact with you all until we're finished. He can't stop me though. My friends are the most important thing to me in my life. So... thanks everyone._

_- __With Love, Skips_

Benson and the group took in a collective sigh of relief. It was nice to hear from Skips, and that he was doing alright. The last they had heard from him, it was brief, and only that he was to take on the role of Strife that the Gods of Youth had bestowed on him. Skips took it as a punishment for destroying Pestilence and ridding him of his powers. Though, the blame for that should have gone to Benson, the two God's of Youth saw different, and placed the blame squarely on Skips. The other didn't agree, but still went along with it either way.

"It's good to hear him safe," Pops said, smiling. He placed his hand on Benson's shoulder and rubbed it.

Benson really wanted to say something meaningful, but it just came out as, "yeah." He couldn't think of any other word besides that. It was then that he noticed an extra sheet of paper with the others. One that wasn't part of the original letter. "Hey Fives, what's this?" He held the paper up the ghost.

"Oh that! He wrote that part for you, I think," he said, scratching his head. "I think it was for your eyes only or something. Can I read it?" he asked with a mischievous smile.

Benson took the letter and held it close to his chest, dropped the rest of the previous scribblings and made a beeline for the basement door. Both Pops and Five's exchanged a laugh and returned to their work.

The automaton kept the letter close, and dashed out onto the porch. This was important. It was gold to him, and he wasn't going to let anybody else see it. If Skips said that this was for his eyes only, he had to respect that. He looked down at the words on the paper, his hands shaking. He wasn't sure why he was so scared. Was it bad news? Did he use the other letter as a means to cheer everyone up? What was it?

He took in a deep breath and read the words to himself:

_Hey Benson! I'm gonna keep this short and sweet since High Five Ghost is hovering above me impatiently. With good reason too. He doesn't want to get on Death's bad side like I did. But anyways, I don't really have much to say other than this:_

_ When this is done, and I'm out of here, I'm taking you and we're going to see the world. We'll see it all! I kind of want to go back to my birth home and see if there's anything there. Knowing my luck, it's a swamp or something. I don't care. Seeing as Pestilence isn't going to bother us anymore, I just want to backtrack a bit. Maybe we can go see some of the graves of my old friends and lovers. I hope you don't mind that. I'd just like to introduce you to them. You might like them._

_ I miss you. I miss you like you wouldn't believe. I'm acting sort of like a love starved yeti right now. I think I always act like that when it's around people like you though. I don't know... I told you already: I'm curious. And I wouldn't want to be any other way, especially around you._

_ But you know, when we finish seeing the world a bit, do you think we could come back to the park? I like it here. I feel like it's someplace I can actually stay for a long time without worrying about anything. I mean, I have a nice job there, a lot of great friends, a nice "quiet" city, and then there's you. So I hope you understand. I know you don't like being in a rut, but maybe if we are together it won't be so bad._

_ Sorry, I have to wrap this up. I think Death is coming. Just know that I'm here and I care about you more then_

The letter cuts off there.

That was fine. It was enough. It was more than enough.

Benson smiled and sat down on the steps of the house. He read the letter to himself again, and tried to imagine Skips, stuck in some empty void with a piece of paper and a pen with High Five Ghost looming over him. The image should have been worrisome and woeful, but it actually put Benson at ease. It meant that Skips was safe, and that he was thinking about all of them – especially a certain special gumball machine.

He didn't know what to do with himself. He felt a strange ping of joy in his belly that moved upwards to his gumball. He felt happy. Even in the horrible heat, he felt happy. Even while his insides burned and ached, he felt happy. Even when it seemed like he may never get out of his rut, he felt happy.

And he had a reason to be.

"He's coming back," Benson laughed up into the Summer blue sky. "He's coming back..."

**Otherside of the World** – _KT Tunstall_

* * *

><p><strong>The ending of a war... the beginning of Strife...<strong>

Ending Two of Three


	34. 3 Collect Call

**Collect Call**

**Broken Diamonds**  
><em>...are worth fortunes!<em>

The men stood in complacent frustration, certain that if they moved or even spoke a word, the gods would kill them on the spot. Even Death and the remnants of Pestilence shivered in fear as they pondered what would happen to them next. Skips and Benson kept exchanging glances to one another, occasionally smiling to one and nodding to the other.

The stage they stood on was large and blinding from the clash of white that surrounded them, and the empty and black void of space above them. In their front, a circular staircase led upwards to a platform, which protruded five pillars into the sky. There, the Gods of Youth – in the form of large infants with bronze helmets and bibs – debated amongst themselves. They would stare down at each and everyone of the group standing before them, before returning to the discussion at hand.

Gary stood behind the men on trial, leaning against the vehicle he had brought them in with his hands crossed. He remained silent and watched the show unfold slowly in front of him, secretly hoping for a verdict that would wrap this whole mess up.

There was suddenly a quiet calm about the gods.

The one in the center looked down at Death and scowled. The other four agreed wholeheartedly.

There was no debate from the counsel; no back and forth or any sort of discussion about the punishment.

The judgment was ready to be carried out.

* * *

><p><strong>Five Months Later...<strong>

* * *

><p>Skips felt his back pop as he stretched out his body, trying to shake the sleep and restlessness from the previous night. "I think we should see a chiropractor," he said, looking down at the lump next to him on his bed.<p>

Benson grumbled something and turned his back toward the beast, before grabbing the sheets and shelling himself.

Skips chuckled and stood up. He had a feeling that today was going to be one of those days, considering Benson's mood. He wasn't that surprised, especially the night they had. It was worth it though. After all, practice made perfect. And considering how "rusty" the two of them were on the subject, they had plenty of experience to gain.

Speaking of rusty...

"My limbs feel like they're about to fall off," Skips complained as he slipped on his black briefs. His jeans followed immediately afterwards; and with that, he was ready for the work day. He took a small whiff of his under arms and grimaced a bit at the slight musk of stink coming off him. A shower sounded wonderful, but there was almost no point in it since he was going to be spending all his time outside anyways. A little dab of deodorant would do the trick for the time being.

Once that was out of the way, he popped his neck and readied himself. "You coming or not?" he asked as he nudged at the lump in bed.

It muttered another sleepless growl and slowly pulled itself up. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Benson yawned. "What time is it anyways?" Skips pointed to the alarm clock next to their bed and tapped his foot impatiently. Benson looked at the digital numbers and jumped up with fright when he realized the time. "Jeez, why'd you let me sleep in?"

Skips smiled and watched his lover run around the room, grabbing books and notes off the exercise equipment and dresser. "Because you needed the extra sleep for your exam. Besides, I thought what we did last night would help you clear your head."

"It did," Benson admitted, "but I could have used the extra time to cram a bit. Ugh... feels like I'm in high school again." He could feel his gut decent into his bowls, the horrid dread of his test coming in quickly.

"It's not so bad," Skips was quick to comment, "you got Pops taking his test with ya too."

He was right, as usual, but it still didn't stop Benson from feeling like a nervous wreck. Besides... there were other things on his mind besides having to survive a silly little test to get him promoted. But for the moment, the test was what kept him preoccupied.

"Don't think you're getting away so easily just by watching, Skips," Benson smirked. "You gotta take a test for my old position when we get back from vacation."

"Don't remind me," Skips sighed. He may have known just about "everything" but he was still like everyone else, and hated tests and exams with a passion. Still, that wasn't for another couple of months. He had plenty of time to prepare for it. Plus, he was sure the staff was going to help him get ready for it too. They were surprisingly supportive of Benson so far.

Benson jumped around the park shack, grabbing whatever left he needed for one more session of cramming before the big test in a few hours. His heart was beginning to race, and his nerves got shot.

Skips felt his anxiety and began to breath heavily, trying to keep himself cool from it. He wasn't used to this yet. "Benson."

The gumball machine glanced over at him in between panic attacks, and noticed the physical state he was putting the yeti in. That wasn't going to get either of them anywhere if both of them acted like test worried lunatics. "Sorry," he apologized, slowing down his pace. "I'll try to calm down."

Skips nodded, feeling his heart rate slow down slight. It wasn't by much, but it was something at least. "That's better," he said.

Another moment later, Benson had collected everything he needed to get ready, and the two were ready to go. The plan was simple enough. Drive Benson down to the business district, drop him off at Maellard's office, and pick him up later on when he was finished with the test. The worst part was the in between areas where Skips was sure to feel all the test anxiety he was to have.

"Okay, I'm ready," Benson said as he ran up to the door. "Let's go and get this over with."

Skips shook his head and skipped over next to him. "And I already told you, you're going to do just fine. Don't panic so much. It's not healthy for either of us." He laughed again, and playfully hit Benson's shoulder. He flinched as a small ping of pressure hit him as well on the same spot of his shoulder. "Now let's get going."

Benson nodded, rubbing his shoulder. Why Skips would subject himself to moments like that was still beyond his grasp, but he supposed that was what being in love was like.

They opened the door, and prepared themselves for the ride into town... or at least they would have.

"Going somewhere, mates?" Death asked with a sneer.

The two men stopped as they found the skeleton darkening their driveway. He had a habit of just showing up out of the blue lately, and it was becoming a rather annoying thing at this point. He was last thing they wanted to see today.

"What do you want this time, Death?" Skips replied back to the entity. "We're in a bit of a hurry, and don't have time to deal with your antics."

"Oh?" the skeleton chided. "I think you might. You see, this concerns the both of yous this time." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He then handed it to Skips and gracefully bowed away just a few feet. He had a feeling if he wasn't a good distance from the yeti, he was going to be on the receiving end of a fist.

Skips unfolded the paper and read it quickly. He passed it off to Benson, who did the same, before tear it to pieces and throwing the remnants down onto the ground. "I guess that means you got your way then, huh?"

Death shook his head and continued to smirk evilly. "No, mate. If I got my way, I would have already reaped Skips' soul already, as well as yours for an added bonus for putting me through all that rowdy trouble. I'm not a sadist like Pestilence was. I'm easy to please, for the most part."

"You could have fooled us," Skips said. "Considering what you already did with Benson and I."

"Don't blame that on me, Skips. That was the Gods doing, not mine." Death giggled and played around with his scythe. "How's that going for you, by the way?"

Benson slit his eyes at the skeleton angrily, doing his best to try and keep his emotions in check. The last thing he wanted to do was send Skips into some sort of frenzy. After all, Skips was now directly connected with Benson's physical being – the judgment of the Gods. Skips would feel every single hit and blow that Benson felt, even feeling the small nuances such as an increase in heart rate, or the slight and subtle bodily changes caused on by emotional instability.

"How do you think it's going?" Benson calmly replied. Skips thanked the gumball machine with his eyes, happy that there wasn't any adrenaline dumped into his system. That would have spelled bad news for everyone.

"Just checking," the death dealer said. "How's your body holding up then? Quintel knows that whatever happens to you, happens to Skips... including death." His boney finger grazed along the blade of his scythe, suggesting something almost threatening. He didn't mean anything by it though. He was simply blowing steam out to get a reaction out of the two.

Neither of them would have any of it though.

"Go away, Death," Skips snapped. "Just go." He and Benson were in no mood for anything else. They had bigger fish to fry. Benson had a date with a scantron sheet and an oral exam to follow it.

Death shrugged and relented. "I suppose I should get going. Got plenty of souls to reap and what not." He took his weapon, and slit a portal into another dimension – his exit. "I just wanted to pop on by and deliver that little message to ya. Gary should be meeting with you sometime soon. Probably after your little vacation you two have planned. I hope you both have a good one, because depending on what the Gods decide afterwards could make your relationship a bit... sickly." He chuckled again and disappeared into the portal, which closed shut after him.

Benson and Skips both felt heat grow inside them: true and utter disdain for the fool. They're demeanor quickly cooled as Pops stood behind where the portal was, his arms full of books and notes as well. His expression however, was far from his usual energy.

"What was he doing here?" Pops inquired. "Is there something wrong? Are you both okay?"

"We're fine," Skips answered, waving it off, "we'll explain in the cart though. We gotta get these test things taken care of; you guys got a lot more than just Death to worry about." He hustled them into the cart and quickly ignited the engine.

This didn't make Pops feel any less worried. He wasn't too concerned considering the two of them were still standing, and seemed to have color on their faces. Benson assured him they were going to be alright, and climbed into the front seat next to Skips.

They sped off toward the direction of the park gates, waving to the other workers as they did. High Five Ghost even floated up to them and wished the two men good luck on their exams. He was the last to do so, as Mordecai and Rigby actually wished them all the luck they could, and even Muscle Man gave them some support.

The golf cart went under the arch ways into the city, and they were on their way to Maellard's office building, whom had taken the day off simply to test the two men for the next few hours.

"So why was Death at your shack, Skips?" Pops asked as soon as they were out of the park.

"He came to deliver us a message," Benson replied before Skips could say anything. "A letter."

"Oh? And what did it say?"

"Bad news," Skips grunted.

Benson smiled and nudged the yeti. "Interesting choice of words there, Skips." He laughed at it, feeling surprisingly relaxed about the situation and the phrase that Skips had used.

Skips, however, didn't share the same sentiment. It had only been a few months since all that garbage went down, and the one thing he did not want to talk about was everything they had gone through in order to get to that point.

Pops wasn't sure what that meant exactly though. Could it have meant what he thought it meant. "Do you mean bad news as in...?"

"Yep," Benson finished the old man's pondering. "It means that the Gods haven't been able to find a suitable replacement for Pestilence yet and they're considering shoving his old job on me."

Pops hands clasped over his mouth in shock. "Oh my..."

"It gets better though," Benson continued. "After seeing all the crap that Skips had done the past few centuries, they want to consider him for a role as Strife. You know, like war and all?"

"Oh dear."

"And they're going to give us their final decision after Skips and I get back from our time off," the gumball machine finally finished. "Fun, huh?"

Pops was almost left speechless. This was certainly big news, and not the good type either. Skips was right in saying it was bad news. In fact, it could be the worse type of news imaginable considering. "But if you two become those... things, what will happen to you?"

"Can't say for sure, Pops," Skips finally chimed in. "We may end up having to do some things we won't be proud of. It's not like we'll have a choose in the matter either."

"Well, I understand that I suppose," the old man said, "but what I mean is, what will happen to the two of you, especially since you too are 'linked' I should say?"

"I don't know," Benson replied. "We're going to find out, aren't we? I don't think it's anything to worry about just yet though. Skips and I don't even know if they really are going to go through with it. For all we know, they may be nice and just remove the little curse on me and Skips as a sign of good will."

Skips let out a loud hysterical laugh. "Like that's ever going to happen." Benson bumped his arm, and leaned against him with a smile.

Pops was surprised by how nonchalant they were taking the news. "You two aren't worried about this, though?"

"Considering what we've been through?" Benson answered. "I think Skips and I are going to be alright."

"I've dealt with worse," the yeti added to his lover's statement. "Besides, if he and I can depower a creature of the end times, how hard should becoming one be? It's not like they haven't considered me for Strife before. I've been offered a few times."

Benson looked up at the yeti's glowing expression, and mimicked it himself. "Didn't you say you had a crush on the previous version of Strife or something?"

"Let's not get into that," he laughed. "That's ancient history. Let's just focus on right now, okay?" He then reached down a bit, and gave the gumball machine a small peck on the dome. It was innocent and a little fluffy, but Benson enjoyed it. The little moments like that made the stress they went through all the more worth while.

Pops wanted to ask more on the message they were given, but seeing the mood that the two were in, he decided against it. Watching the two of them face fire with a smile on their face gave him confidence and hope for the future. Perhaps he could find the strength they had to carry on his father's work without any problem. So with that, he too copied the cool and calm behavior they were exuding and relaxed into his seat.

Maellard's building was coming into the distance. Benson could feel a slight tinge of test anxiety come back again, but was soothed by Skips and Pops' words of support. The yeti waved goodbye to the two of them, reminding them both to call him as soon as they were done. He drove off without any worry, save for the small amount that Benson was forcing him to feel through increased jitters and heart rate.

Benson and Pops watched him disappear, and readied themselves for the test. They still had another hour before it officially begun so bouncing questions off one another seemed liked the most sound and logical plan. It wasn't going to be so bad though.

It would be over before they knew it.

**Collect Call** – _Metric_

* * *

><p><strong>An ending still up for discussion...<strong>

Ending Three of Three

_Onward to the Epilogue..._


	35. Diamonds

**Epilogue - Diamonds  
><strong>

The halls of the Tiny Chateau institution seemed livelier than usually that day. It seemed like a majority of the patients and staff were in better than average moods. And why shouldn't it be like that? The sun was out and it was a balmy 70 degrees Fahrenheit outside, with a light and cooling breeze in the distance.

Usually, Barnaby didn't like to be out of his room, but Amy desperately wanted to go outside and play, and both Barnaby and the orderlies couldn't say no to her today. Not of all days when the son was out and people were smiling. He was glad he went along it with it; he had underestimated just how beautiful it truly was. It was the kind of the day where he could take his favorite book with him and sit under a tree while Amy played around with her imagination somewhere within eyesight. It was a wonderful to day to be out.

"I've read that one before," mentioned a voice above the possum, "that was back in high school though. Probably the only required reading that I actually enjoyed." He looked up and found Martin Ploddevize, giving him a half smile. Barnaby was a little surprised actually. He hadn't seen the man in a few weeks, and wondered if he had been released.

He was about to greet him, but noticed his attire was somewhat different. "Why are you dressed up like one of the doctors?" Barnaby asked shyly.

Martin smiled and sat down next to him. "Funny story about that." He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and clicked it open, bringing it close to a clipboard he had with him. "You see, they did some tests on me and found out I was mentally clean (mostly) and let me go some time ago. After a probational period they said I could work again, so here I am!"

"Congratulations, I guess," the possum replied. Mind you, he never talked to Ploddevize that much before, he was still happy one of them got out of there.

"Thank you, gray rat," he said with a smirk, "but it gets a lot better!" Barnaby raised an eyebrow curiously. "I'm working here every other Saturday, and guess who's going to be watching over you and Ms. Amy over there?"

"New doctor?" Amy asked, ceasing her frolicking. "What about our old one?"

"He'll still be taking care of you," Martin answered, "but the infinitely better one will be here twice a month to pick up his mess on every little thing he does wrong."

Barnaby and Amy gave each other a confused look.

The possum scratched his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Why us though?"

Dr. Ploddevize's grin spread across. He had been waiting for Barnaby to ask that question. "Well, you remember the reason why the three of us are in here?"

Amy suddenly knelt down, bringing her knees close to her chest, and began to hyperventilate. Barnaby dropped his book and quickly tried to comfort her. He rarely gave anyone a stink eye, but he gladly made sure to grant one to Martin Ploddevize.

The doctor just took it in, keeping his smirk and letting out a brief chuckle. "It's okay, Amy. This is a happy story, with an ending that'll knock your socks off!"

"A happy story?" she repeated. "With a happy ending?"

"Kind of a happy ending. I'm not sure about the details, but you're going to love what happens to the bad guy." The good doctor stretched out his legs and enjoyed the breeze at it shot through his hair.

"Is it dead?" Barnaby asked.

Martin showed his pearly whites off and answered: "Well, I guess you're just going to have to listen and find out."

* * *

><p>Pops opened the door to Skips' old shack and walked in as two figures followed along behind him. "Skips said you two could have it if you like. He says he's found a better place to call home." His smile was wide and joyful as Muscle Man and High Five Ghost passed him by, looking at the small empty shack.<p>

They observed all the little details of it, shocked by how clean the place was. It didn't feel like home just yet, but that could change in a matter of weeks. The two had had their eyes on the place ever since Benson and Skips ran off for a while. It was certainly bigger than the trailer, that much they agreed on.

"What do you think, Fives?" the green man asked his friend. "Do you think this would make the ultimate bro shack?"

The ghost floated about the room, spinning in circles and loops, a ghastly smile on his face as he did. "This place is perfect! I have more space to wander around in! And I could probably use the garage as my own room if I want!"

"Definitely!" Muscle Man said. "And we can both get those signs that you hang on the door that tell people not to knock when the beds rock." They both laughed and high fived one another.

Pops leaned against the door way, watching the two men become utterly excited for their new home. "So I take it that means you all will find this as your new residence?" He already knew the answer.

"Well duh, bro," Muscle Man replied, jumping around the room with fives. He added with, "bring on the ladies!" as he stripped the shirt from his back and began to spin it around above him, letting out some long and loud noises as he did.

High Fives laughed at him, joining in with his friends games. His reflexes surprised him though when he caught something thrown at him. He checked to see what they were: a pair of house keys.

"You two enjoy your new home then," Pops said as he began to exit. "I must be on my way back to the corporate office. Nicholas is going to be training me in how to buy and sell stock properly." He let out his usual laugh as he exited. "What fun it shall be!"

The naïve man from lolliland was greeted outside by a chauffeur who let him into a stretched limousine. He situated himself inside and instructed the driver to get them to his father's office building.

Across from him, two guests in the car looked out, watching the shirtless Muscle Man run out of the shack, dancing about, with High Five Ghost at his tail. The first guest, a middle aged male red cardinal in a casual black vest and tie, watched the strange men outside with strange judgment and curiosity. The woman next to him, a bird of brown plumage in jeans and a tank top, watched on as well.

"Are they stoned?" the red cardinal commented.

"They certainly look like they are," his better half said.

Pops didn't add anything to it. He just smiled at his workers outside, happy to have them on as the staff. He was afraid he was going to miss moments like this after starting training for the company, but his worries were calmed after seeing that display.

He was optimistic about the future.

* * *

><p>Construction of the new Coffee Shop didn't take as long as people thought it would. But then again, when the city's wealthiest and most powerful man comes forth and decides to back the shop with his financing, it tends to get the job done faster. It shocked the shop owner, Michelle, to find the place brought back in only a matter of weeks.<p>

After reopening, business boomed liked crazy, thanks in part to advertisements that Maellard's corporation personally funded and produced. With that, the Coffee Shop was up and running again, with little to no time to dawdle as Margaret and Eileen realized when they started back up. It wasn't like they were complaining though. They were getting an extra couple of dollars raise, which worked wonders for Margaret's college fund.

"So how long do you think you two are going to be sticking around this place, anyways?" Michelle asked, her electric eel tail batting against the floor.

Margaret shrugged, answering for the both of them. "I don't know. I guess whenever we decide it's time to move on to something else. I still got some classes to do, and the pay here is just too good now."

Eileen agreed as she placed some coffee mugs onto a tray. "Yeah! Although I think the hours are out of control though. We could always use more time off."

Michelle giggled and rolled up some chocolate into the croissants. "I hear that! But until I can get some new help hired on, we're stuck where we are." She looked at the two girls and found they had disappointment across their faces. "Oh come on," she pleaded. "If this is about spending more time with your boyfriends, you guys don't know what you're talking about. They're practically in here everyday for hours on end." She looked out onto the lobby and saw the raccoon and blue jay sitting at a back booth talking about whatever.

The other two girls saw them and waved, though the boys didn't see them do so. They giggled and returned to their work.

"Well, we'd like some time to hang out with them outside of work, Michelle," Margaret said to her. "Maybe see a movie or something that isn't after 10pm at night."

"And Rigby said he was going to take me to this really 3D movie theater sometime," Eileen added, "but I have to work all the time so..."

"I get it, girls," Michelle quipped. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Look, I have an interview set up with some guy named Richter in a few days. How about you two sit in with me, and we can figure this out together. How does that sound?"

The mole and red robin thought about it and agreed happily. They both left the front counter and began delivering the food and drinks they were instructed to, saying brief words to the boys as they passed by them.

"Hey Margaret!" Mordecai said, catching her attention. "Rigby and I were thinking about going camping again sometime. Someplace that wasn't the old place. You guys wanna come?"

Did he really even need to ask, she wondered. She grinned and agreed to the trip, eagerly awaiting the future date. She was just about to step away when she found herself stopped by the blue jay's wing. "Is there something wrong, Mordecai? I gotta keep working – we're backed up as it is."

"I know," he answered, in a shaky voice. "It's just... I wanna ask you something else."

"Margaret!" screamed Michelle from behind the counter, catching the robin's attention.

"I gotta go, Mordecai," she said. "We'll talk later!" She quickly gave him a peck on the cheek and scampered off.

This left the young man standing up, and feeling a little more nervous and awkward than usual. How was he going to ask Margaret and Eileen if they wanted to move into the park house with them, if he couldn't even muster up the courage to ask.

"As long as they don't sleep in the same room as us," Rigby commented on the subject. In reality, he kind of wanted that. But he wasn't going to say that out loud.

* * *

><p>The florescent lights above the woman's head fizzled and hissed violently as she washed her hands with warm soapy water. She stared up at the brightness of the bulbs, flickering and fading. One of them burst, causing her to jump slightly and get water all over her quaint little dress. She sighed unhappily, grabbing for paper towels next to the faucet. The woman quickly wiped down her body. She didn't have time for this nervousness though. She had to hurry onward.<p>

This place was like a maze, the woman thought to herself. Where was this person's office again? The man she was supposed to see? And what was his name again? Mallerd? Mellerd? Maellard? That was it! Mr. Maellard. She had heard that name several times before, but then again, who hadn't? The billionaire and his son owned more than 80% of the city, plus several conglomerates outside of the city, state, and country. It was almost off putting to be called into an interview with a man so rich and powerful. And all over a job interview to work at a park?

It made the woman nervous. But worry wasn't going to stop her today. She needed this job, especially considering all the things her and her boyfriend had been going through. By the sounds of it, it didn't pay that much, and the hours were going to be quite unbearable, but at this point, a job was a job, evening at minimum wage. At least she was going to be getting some benefits that could be used for both herself and her boyfriend.

"Hold that elevator!" she screamed, rushing towards the slowly closing door. She was sure she was going to miss it, until a lanky pink woman in a suit with a kind face held it open for her. The machine jumped inside and slowly calmed herself as the door closed behind her.

"That was certainly a close call," the pink woman said to the female automaton. "You seem very fast on your feet."

"Thank you," the girl said, trying to catch her breath – brought on by a combination of exhaustion and nervousness. "And thank you for holding the door open for me." She looked at the woman, taking in some finer details. She noticed the woman holding onto a liquor store bag, and wondered what she was even doing there with booze.

"It's no problem," the business woman said with a warm grin. "What floor are you going to? I'll press it for you."

The machine calmed her composure and looked toward the elevator dials, searching for her button. "Oh, I'm heading for..." but she didn't need to say anything beyond that. The floor she was going to was already lit up, and the elevator was heading that way already. "Are you going to see Mr. Maellard too?" she asked the woman.

The pink woman looked somewhat surprised but continued to smile. "Oh, are you too? What a coincidence! Allow me to introduce myself! I'm Bonnibel Bubblegum!" She offered out her hand to shake, which the machine gladly took and shook. This gave Bonnibel some time to observe the finer details of the woman.

At first, she mistook her for a gumball machine, having met one like her a few months prior. But that wasn't the case. She had no crank – at least one she could see – and the inside of her dome held not candy, but an actual scene: a house, surrounded by fake plastic snow, as well as some tiny flakes that when shaken gave the woman a dreamy vision. "Is she a snow globe?" Bonnibel thought. Her attire was simple, in a red dress while wearing a beret of the same color. She also had a white and black striped scarf around her neck.

"I'm Evelyn," the machine replied back. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too!" Bonnibel answered back. She let go of her hand and asked, "so what brings you here?"

"Job interview," Evelyn answered back.

"Job interview for what?"

"Just some little position at the city park," she continued. "I think they need a new manager or something. I don't know all the details, so I'm a little more than nervous. I got laid off at my old job just recently so..."

"Say no more," the pink woman interrupted. "I understand completely. Getting a job can be quite a difficult experience. Especially in this day and age."

Evelyn giggled. "Tell me about it..."

Bonnibel laughed along and watched the numbers above the door zoom on by. "You know, I actually know the current manager at the park right now."

"Really?" Evelyn said surprised. "What's he like?"

"He's an automaton, like you," Bonnibel explained. "I only met him once, but from what I can tell, he's a little rough around the edges, and has a bit of temper it seems like, but he's really committed and a hard worker. He's really committed to protecting his friends too!"

Evelyn smiled and watched the elevator door open up. "I think I'd probably really like him then."

"Maybe you would," Bonnibel said as the two of them stepped out of the small room.

The two women walked up to the secretary and explained to her what they were doing there. Bonnibel was granted access immediately, but Evelyn was told to stay outside.

"It's alright!" Bonnibel explained to the secretary. "She's with me!"

"Since when?" the assistant defiantly asked. "Mr. Maellard informed me that you were coming alone."

Bonnibel shrugged and kept on smiling. "Things change, I guess." She then grabbed the snow globe's hand and led her inside the office of the city's leading power.

They closed the door behind them, only to be greeted by a room of people, looking at them questionably. Two people sat behind the desk: one of them obviously Mr. Maellard who greeted the women with a smile, and the other being an extremely tall raccoon in nothing but a tie. He was holding a PDA in one hand and a stylus in the other, but the women didn't notice that. They were more fixated on the bulge the raccoon was packing. Neither of them knew exactly how to react to that.

The other two figures in the room sat in chairs in front of the desk, both of them gumball machines. Their expressions were less than enthusiastic.

One of them stood up, revealing a very patch work body made up of various pieces of metal, created and put together with melting lines and screws strewn all over him. Beyond that, his chasis was painted a splotchy light blue, which sadly didn't cover up the shoddy work down to his chasis. The black tie he wore though certainly took away from the body – especially with the stitching of an eye at the bottom of it. His face was tired and annoyed though, probably from the interruption. He adjusted his glasses and said, "come on, love. I think we're finished here."

Veronica stood up next to him and grabbed his hand. "Yes yes, we should be getting some lunch anyways. I'm getting quite hungry."

"So am I," the blue machine sighed. "I don't think I'm used to this being required to eat to survive thing yet."

"Give it some time, Pessie," she replied, wrapping her arm around his. She looked back at Maellard and grinned evilly at him. "My love and I will be back tomorrow to threaten you some more, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Maellard replied with a smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The two gumball machine's then began to walk away, ready to get out of there. Their business threats would have to wait until tomorrow. It wasn't like they were hurting for cash anyways. Hostile takeovers were just too much fun to do, even the ones that always ended in a stalemate.

Bonnibel watched them pass by her, hearing the one in blue say in quiet voice, "hello again, princess," before opening the door and exiting. She wasn't sure why, but it sent a terribly familiar shiver down her spine, like she had met him before. There was a nauseating rumble in her stomach, and the brief images of the past shot through her head. She tried not to dwell on it though, and approached the desk with Evelyn.

"Bonnibel!" Maellard greeted her. "Did you bring the champagne?"

She smiled, feeling her good mood return to her, and brought two bottles out of the bag she brought with her. "You bet I did!"

"Excellent!" he answered. This was a monumental occasion for the both of them.

"Can you believe he actually got cancelled?" Bonnibel laughed. "I didn't think I'd live to see the day Connor Wong's sponsors would drop him like a stone."

"I couldn't be happier, myself, Ms. Bubblegum." He grabbed one of the bottles and slowly began to tear the aluminum sealing off of it. He turned to Don with an excited grin and asked him if he would like to stay and celebrate.

"No thanks," the raccoon replied. "I have a lunch date with Tom. I hope you don't mind."

"Go," Maellard happily said. Don thanked him and headed out the door.

The raccoon saw the two girls and greeted them, getting the strange expression he always got from new meetings. He was used to it, and didn't really care anymore. He was too excited to get out of there and get ready to meet up with Tom. This was their three month anniversary, and he could feel the butterflies in his belly flutter about joyfully. Tom was the only person who still trusted Don with his finances, even after everyone's names were plastered all over the news about Pestilence and everything. He had no idea that he was going to get a requited crush on his client. He was happy.

True, he still had some issues to work out. But he had his family at the park to help him with those. And now, he had Tom to fall back on whenever he had those strange nightmares at night. Then again, they all had them every now and then. It was hard for any of them to not get scared after everything that had happened. But that was in the past. Don wanted to focus on the present. And that meant getting to the Coffee Shop and meeting Tom there.

"He seems nice," Evelyn commented, trying to break herself into the conversation.

Maellard was caught by her, unsure as to what she was even doing there. "Excuse me, I don't believe we have met. Who are you again?"

The machine cleared her throat and shook the old man's hand. "I'm Evelyn. I'm here about the interview for the position at the park. I brought my resume and a list of references if you'd like to go over them in your free time. I know I'm interrupting your celebration and..."

"You're hired," Maellard automatically said, mentally laughing at the woman's sudden shocked expression. She hadn't even passed off the paper to him. He grinned at her and said: "If you were willing to come here prepared, and ready to talk me into giving you a job, then you're good in my book."

"Really!"

"Yes," he continued. "That and you're the only applicant to take interest."

Evelyn's excitement suddenly turned to confusion. "Why was I the only applicant? There was a huge spread for it in the classifies section in the paper."

Maellard popped one of the corks off the champagne bottle and watched it fly across the room. Suds poured out of it, spilling onto the floor. "Everyone believes the park is cursed."

Evelyn grimaced a bit at that bit of news. She had heard the rumors, but didn't believe any them. Were people really that scared of the park? It wasn't like she was going to complain about it. She got the job right on the spot, and there was no way she was going to turn away from that. She knew that Ken was going to be happy to hear it. Though, he too was one of those people who took the curse rumor seriously. It couldn't have been that bad, could it?

"Thank you," was all she could answer with.

"You're welcome," Maellard said back to her, pulling out a third glass. "And your first job while working under me and my son is to get a glass of this fine champagne and join us!"

"Oh, ummm... okay." She gladly took the slender glass, feeling like she might have been dreaming. This was all going to well.

Bonnibel sat down in a chair across the desk, and offered Evelyn a seat. The automaton thanked the two of them and sat in a seat as well. The woman took a sip of the bubbles and noticed something on Maellard's desk. "Are you writing a book or something?" she asked , flipping through a couple of the pages.

Maellard took a drink as well, and nodded. "Those were originally my memoirs. I decided to change them into something else after the whole Pestilence thing a few months ago."

Bonnibel flipped through a few more pages, passing off the bottom half to a curious Evelyn. She looked through them, reading quickly through the mess of story telling and dialogue. "I know what this is," she quickly announced.

"It's a recollection," Bonnibel added on. "There's Pestilence, and Benson, and there you are too! So you are writing a novel of sorts?"

"Somewhat," Maellard answered. "It's mostly from Benson's point of view. I've written up to the Connor Wong show incident when you were there. I can't really go any further until he and Skips get back from vacation."

"How long is that supposed to be?" Evelyn asked as she flipped to another page. "I've kind of been interested in the stuff that was happening in the background. My boyfriend was at the park when that black thing exploded the first time."

"I hope he's been doing alright since then," Maellard said.

"My boyfriend is..." she trailed off for a second, letting a pause fill the air for a couple of seconds. "Well... Ken is Ken." She smiled uncomfortably and flipped to another page.

Maellard didn't feel like prying into her personal life as of yet. Perhaps in a few months, if she was still around by then. "The boys will be back in a few months. I gave them some extended vacation. The two of them deserve it. Till then, I can only write what I know of, which isn't all that much really."

"What did happen anyways?" Bonnibel asked. "I only know as much as the media's let us know."

"Same here," Evelyn agreed. "I heard there was like a crazy raccoon running around the park, and an attack at the hospital, and a bunch of other stuff."

Maellard smiled at the girls and turned around to look out the window. "Do you really want to know?"

The girls answered at the same time with a quick, "yes!"

The aging old man took in a deep breath in his nose and let it out slowly. He was feeling exceptionally good that day. Better than usual. Benson and Skips would be back to take over the park in a few short months, Pops was training to take over the company, Ms. Evelyn there was going to be hired on, Don was happy, as was Margaret... even he himself was happy. They all were happy.

He remembered one thing: he was there as Benson and Skips boarded the plane to some overseas destination that was the start of their global journey. It sounded like the perfect vacation. What stood out about it though was the ecstatic and truly brimming expression Benson had as he entered the plane with Skips.

After all was said and done, Benson was finally happy.

"Alright, girls," Maellard began, turning back to them and sitting down in his chair. "From what I can recall, it started like this."

* * *

><p><em>Something that you do,<br>I really can't explain...  
>The way you make me smile;<br>The way you make me love you  
>When you're shining...<em>

_Diamonds don't make promises or deceive me..._  
><em>They don't lie,<em>  
><em>All they do shine like the sun.<em>  
><em>Stars up in the sky,<em>  
><em>I see them in your eyes.<em>  
><em>Can I see them now?<em>  
><em>Yes, I see them now!<em>

_Little Diamonds..._  
><em>Please don't go away...<em>  
><em>Let me love you!<em>  
><em>Can I keep you near?<em>  
><em>Let me hold you dear ever more.<em>  
><em>Don't know what it is;<em>  
><em>Your magic sparkle kiss.<em>  
><em>Little Diamonds...<em>  
><em>I'm yours...<em>

_Twinkling like a melody in the twilight._  
><em>Ever clear, made in heaven, some are cold.<em>  
><em>And some are perfect cuts,<em>  
><em>While some are in the rough.<em>  
><em>All so beautiful!<em>  
><em>You're so beautiful!<em>

_Little Diamonds..._  
><em>Don't you go away,<em>  
><em>Let me love you!<em>  
><em>Can I keep you near?<em>  
><em>Let me hold you dear for all time...<em>  
><em>Don't know what it is;<em>  
><em>Your sparkle with a kiss.<em>  
><em>Little Diamonds...<em>  
><em>Little Diamonds...<em>  
><em>Be mine...<em>

**Diamonds – **_Yoko Kanno ft. Ilaria Graziano_

_**Fin**_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

And there we have it! It is officially finished, and I couldn't be anymore relieved. This one was more of an ordeal than Triangles was, that's for sure. Overall though, I'd say out of the two so far, this one is my favorite. I put a lot of my own emotions that I was feeling at the time into it, and did my best not to let it overpower me while I was writing like I did with Triangles. I also enjoyed writing the story and creating Pestilence, which I absolutely loved doing. Villains are fun to write, I guess. Hahahaha!

I'm very happy with the way the endings came out too. They feel a little dry to me, I guess, but I enjoy the strangeness of the three endings, as well as the overall Epilogue which I did my best to try and wrap everything up for everyone. I bet none of you were expecting that guest OC to make an appearance eh? Here is a posting of all the credits for the OCs I used for the story after these notes, created by some wonderful and amazing friends of mine!

**Nick, Nicky, and Barnaby – Nope**

**Maxine and Amy – Waifu**

**Evelyn – RinnySega**

Also, I'd like to thank all my readers and anybody who gave me the inspiration to keep going on. I even want to thank the people who gave me the negative and toxic feelings I had through out this too, because without them, I may not have created some of the drama or high octane action sequences within the story. Take a negative and turn it into a positive! Writing is a wonderful way to vent and create scenes. In the end, you find yourself smiling and proud of your own work. But I digress...

From the bottom of my heart – to all my reviewers, readers, watchers, friends, and all those who kept pushing me to do this – THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU! Thank you so much for reading and for being there from beginning to end! THANK YOU ALL SO VERY MUCH!

*hugs*

_So Until Next Fic..._

_Adieu..._


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